


dare you to move

by roommate



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 89,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roommate/pseuds/roommate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minseok waltzes away from the past and falls to his knees on a misstep. Kyungsoo helps him get up and introduces him to a funkier beat. (<b>Warnings:</b> lots of mentions of minor character death, bouts of self-destructive behavior, lots of angst | Written for <a href="http://kyungsooperior.livejournal.com/1395.html">kyungsooperior</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Minseok's idea of an exhibit isn't anything like this – naked people on a canvas, dancing on it with their bodies covered in paint. Joonmyun had brought him to a performance art show before, sure, and he's seen more of those during his childhood, but on all those occasions the artists were wearing clothes. And the entire exhibit venue wasn't a canvas. That doesn't deter Joonmyun from giggling and sighing at every twist and turn of the torso, though, or slapping Minseok on the arm when the music reaches its peak. And that – Joonmyun's enthusiasm – is the very thing that keeps Minseok from furrowing his eyebrows and standing from his seat in a fit of confusion. Possibly the only reason, as well.

"The painting was great, though," Minseok admits after performance. He puts on his best smile when Joonmyun cocks an eyebrow at him. "I didn't know you can achieve those kinds of strokes with your feet."

"They used their hands, too," Joonmyun corrects, then nudges Minseok in his side. "Next time, stop focusing on the dance so much and focus on the art."

 _I'm trying,_ Minseok wants to say. _It's not easy trying to get rid of a second skin, a second pair of eyes, like an itch that keeps coming back._ But he doesn't. Instead, he rolls his eyes and says, "You like Greek food, right?"

Joonmyun holds his gaze for a moment, then grins. "Sounds good to me."

☄

Minseok started attending performance art shows when he was eight.

Seoul still had those free performances back then, when the streets of Insadong weren't littered with stalls and tiny stores yet. Every Saturday, his parents would bring him and his sister to those events, sit them on their laps, and tell them the story that the dance was trying to relay. It was his parents' way of easing him into both art and dance, being performers, themselves. He didn't quite get the art part then because they looked _messy and yucky and why is their skin green, umma?_. He got the hang of it after a while, though, a couple of months into being exposed to these kinds of shows. His last few years in elementary, he spent participating in the school's dance events. During middle school, he dabbled in classical dance and got full marks for his P.E. class. So it wasn't so much just building hobbies and interests; it was also Minseok trying to find a way to do things better, get higher grades. Constantly beating his best record and make his parents proud.

And he did.

He was offered a scholarship in high school after their school's dance troupe won in an interstate competition. They didn't get first place, but their performance was 'weird' enough that it earned more than just a curious glance. After all, high school students don't usually get into skintone tights and dance as if they're painting on a canvas. It had been hard to make his clubmates understand it at first, the beauty in performance art, but after a few prods and showing them what he meant by artful expression through dance and paint, they finally got it. Nailed it, even. They could've given those hobbyist performers in Insadong a run for their money if they wanted to. The painting they came up with during the performance was displayed near the principal's office for months. The performance was the talk of the town for weeks. Minseok's body memorized the dance so well that it was the movement his body sang to, the rhythm he fell asleep to. This was it, he thought, this was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. Dance was a second skin to him – they were one.

"Seriously, you're the only one who noticed the slip. They made it look like it was part of the routine!" Joonmyun says now, laughing behind his hand. He rolls his eyes, and Minseok only narrows his eyes in response. "We're not as… nitpicky with dance as you are."

"'Anal' is an acceptable enough term. Captures the sentiment better, to be honest."

" _Hyung,_ " Joonmyun begins, then continues after a sharp intake of breath. "Let it go. Just eat. I know you're starving. We can discuss the technicalities of the twist or whatever you call that thing they do with the turning."

"It's a modified pirouette," Minseok corrects. He grins when Joonmyun cocks an eyebrow at him. "So, mister big-shot manager, until when will you be in Seoul?"

Joonmyun scrunches his nose, and in an instant he loses that image of a perfect man – Kim Joonmyun with his slicked back hair, pressed suit, his shiny shoes, Kim Joonmyun with a smile so perfect that people should probably make a mold out of it. Minseok would, if Joonmyun didn't dismiss him everytime he broached the topic, but at the same time he wouldn't. There's a price Joonmyun has to pay everytime he acts any less perfect in public – a click of the shutter, a flash of light, Joonmyun looking disgruntled on social networking sites because apparently managers as handsome as he is are hard to come by. Couple that with EXO's popularity and Joonmyun rarely ever goes unnoticed anywhere he goes. They're lucky there aren't that many people who appreciate performance art, people like them.

"I was trying to remember the schedule, but then I realized I still have to fix it," Joonmyun says after a while. "We start touring again in two weeks so I'll be free for a week." He worries his bottom lip, then, "Five days. _Three._ Sometimes I don't know if I should be glad my kids are famous."

Minseok laughs a little, takes a piece of zucchini and swallows hard. "I heard their Japanese material, by the way. They all sound good and–" He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing all the more, but a sliver of laughter still escapes. "Did you really make Lu Han rap?"

" _Not_ my decision to make."

"Please tell Baekhyun that he's crazy."

Joonmyun motions to raise his phone to his ear then says, "Baek, your favorite hyung says you're crazy."

" _You're_ his favorite," Minseok amends. "Unless he's changed in the months I haven't seen him. Have you?"

Joonmyun swallows around nothing in particular, the gentle bobbing in his throat visible in this light, and Joonmyun doesn't say anything. He holds the gaze, though, keeps Minseok pinned in place with guarded eyes that Minseok is supposed to easily get past by now. But it's been months. It's been months since they've really hung around each other. Joonmyun probably made new friends during the tour, people whose names Minseok won't ever be able to memorize. Minseok has dealt with new celebrities, too, helped them get back their peace of mind after a few yoga sessions. They both have separate lives now, _really separate ones_ that have a very little chance to align.

Joonmyun leans closer then whispers, "I've got a feeling. In my tummy. And I think I'm going to–"

Minseok rolls his eyes. "Go, go, nurse your funny tummy or whatever. And come up with a new excuse next time!"

It isn't until he's alone that the person at the table beside theirs calls his attention. Minseok turns to look to his side, then, eyes widening when he catches sight of the stranger. He looks vaguely familiar – big, curious eyes, bangs that almost cover half of them, a weird smile on the curl of the lip. "Sorry, couldn't help but overhear the conversation. But I agree with you – the dancing was pretty… half-assed."

Minseok tries not to snort, but the bluntness of the statement gets to him, tickles his throat until he's cackling. "Say, what?"

"There's no better way to say it," the stranger says. He isn't remorseful, not with the light upward tug at the corner of his lips, slowly revealing bright white teeth. Minseok squints a little, leans back, but at the same time he wants to lean in. Engage this person in a conversation because he's never heard anyone so bluntly diss on a performance art show.

"Not really half-assed," Minseok says after a while. "Just not as heart-felt. Could've been better."

The stranger scoffs. "You're nice."

Minseok shrugs. "I try to be," he answers in reply. He doesn't say, _not half as much as the person who cares enough about the performance to feel that it's 'half-assed'._

"False alarm," comes a familiar voice, and Minseok sits up straight again, looks up at Joonmyun and wears his best smile. Joonmyun gives him a funny look, then glances at the person at the table beside theirs. The stranger is back to dissecting his food with great interest, like his _dakos_ holds the answers to the secrets of the world, so Minseok lets it go. Doesn't strike up a conversation. Gives Joonmyun his full attention. If Joonmyun ever notices that Minseok's mind is elsewhere, he doesn't bring it up. Instead, Joonmyun orders a bottle of wine for them and pours Minseok a glass.

Minseok clinks their glasses in appreciation and a muted 'thanks'.

☄

"Ah," Baekhyun says, then stretches his arms over his head. "I missed yoga."

Minseok shakes his head and gives Baekhyun's ass a light tap before walking ahead. Breaks for EXO mean Joonmyun signing up the members for their activity of choice, aka something that will get their mental stability back to tip-top shape and help them ease back into a more peaceful way of life. Yixing has been taking Zumba classes every chance he gets. Chanyeol has been spending time in the company to record the songs that would've otherwise been stuck in his phone forever. Lu Han joins him from time to time, but for the most part he sticks with Yixing even if Zumba drains him more than it energizes him. Joonmyun's doing his manager thing but Baekhyun somehow managed to convince him to do yoga with him in the evening. So in essence, Jongdae's gym benefits from EXO taking a break. It makes Minseok much happier, too, since his boss is happy. It's a win-win situation.

"You miss the ass that comes with it," Minseok whispers loud enough for Baekhyun to hear.

Baekhyun gasps, but the look on his face makes him look more like he's going to burst into laughter anytime. Baekhyun's mouth never lies, after all. "You say that to your star student?"

Minseok pulls Baekhyun's shoulders back before handing him a mug of hot ginger tea. "Posture, kid," he says, giving Baekhyun's back a light pat. "And _that's_ why you're not my star student."

"Cut me some slack, hyung. It's been, what, months since we last did this?"

"You say that as if we both do the slouching thing." Minseok chuckles when Baekhyun aims a light jab at his arm. "Minus two stars for you. One more and I'm dumping you in a hot C session _then_ flow yoga."

"Flow isn't even that hard if you've been doing yoga _properly,_ " Yixing adds. He clasps a hand on Baekhyun's shoulder. Minseok motions to take a step back, but he keeps his surprise to himself. Yixing has a habit of appearing in places unannounced. It's nice to know some good things don't change.

Baekhyun narrows his eyes at the two, then turns to jab Yixing in the arm. "You two. Hot C and flow yoga with me later. Tonight, we do yoga in hell!"

Minseok shakes his head in a fit of laughter and takes the Gatorade Yixing offers him.

The other reason Minseok likes having EXO around in the gym, other than the pay, is because the noise (more like every sound Baekhyun makes) helps him drown out the voices in his head. The first day the group worked out in the gym, Minseok stopped getting those weird voices talking about game strategies in his head. The second day, he'd flushed out his own silly idea of scheduling an appointment with Joonmyun that doesn't involve watching a performance with him.

This is the third day, and there's one last voice he hasn't gotten rid of just yet. The dry, low chuckle of the stranger he encountered at the restaurant a few days ago still haunts him when silence begins to settle. It's not so much the voice that caught him off-guard, to be honest. It's the stranger's honesty, the careless words, and the way he slipped back into his own little world when Joonmyun got back to his seat that makes Minseok replay that moment in his head again and again, day in and day out. Like he knows what Minseok wants and that he actually wants the same thing, a connection so casual they can drop it at the first sign of intruders. Then maybe they can pick it back up when they bump into each other somewhere, sometime. _If_ they ever bump into each other again.

Yixing nudges him in his side. "Busy thinking?"

Minseok turns to look Yixing in the eye, practiced smile intact. "A bit. Baekhyun makes it impossible to think."

"Ah. See, this is what we have to deal with everyday…" Yixing shakes his head, slow and deliberate. Baekhyun has moved on from harping at them to deciding on a good meal to eat for lunch. "Baekhyun talking, Baekhyun singing, Baekhyun making all sorts of sounds–"

"I don't have to know that?"

Yixing gives him a solemn pat and a nod. "Right. Because you experienced all that in the past three days." Yixing takes a deep breath. "Hey hyung, there's a nice samgyupsal place in Insadong. Wanna check that out?"

He glances at the wall clock, then looks around. His next yoga class isn't until 5 p.m.. There's enough time.

☄

Heading out for lunch smack at the beginning of autumn isn't the best idea. Skies are clear and the sun is up high, and heat during daytime isn't exactly the kindest. He'd insisted to drive for the two to make the travel more bearable, but Yixing still insists they take the more scenic route to Insadong. This means having to take public transport without drawing too much attention to them. It's easier during winter, what with the many layers of clothes they can put on, but Yixing refuses to put on anything over his threadbare shirt and jeans. And a light cardigan, but that doesn't make things better. Minseok feels like they're in some twisted edition of The Amazing Race except they're being hunted down by paparazzis and fans. Or even innocent bystanders who are thinking, _oh hey, these two look familiar. Does EXO have a new manager now?_

"Joonmyun's gonna kill me when he finds out," Minseok mumbles. He doesn't doubt Joonmyun's ability to track where his kids are. The last time they snuck out, Joonmyun beat them to the location by ten minutes. So Minseok drags Baekhyun and Yixing to the least crowded bunk and reminds them not to get frisky. "Not that I'm saying anyone can actually like Baekhyun," Minseok adds.

Baekhyun's eyes widen. Yixing draws a finger close to his lips and says, _sssh._ The rest of the trip dissolves into Baekhyun resorting to slaps on the arm instead of whining in the train, _hyung, you are the worst!_

The trip is well worth the wait. Yixing orders four servings of samgyupsal and two servings of kimchi jjigae, talks their head off for the first half of their stay in the restaurant. Yixing is already enthusiastic about a lot of things, as he is; add months of being apart and a taste of 'home' after so long and he becomes something akin to a talkshow host. "This is nothing like what they have in Japan," Yixing says between bites, and Baekhyun holds two thumbs up as he swallows the lump in his throat. "This always brings me back to… pre-debut days? Remember when we'd eat by a food cart after practice?"

"And we'd make Lu Han-hyung buy us more food because he will never be able to resist our charms." Baekhyun makes a flourish, drawling the last few syllables as he sways in his seat. He's grinning ear-to-ear, and Minseok can't tell if Baekhyun's still reminiscing about the late night snacks by the food cart or if he's enjoying this meal they're having now. "Good ol' times, huh?"

Yixing snorts. "It's not as if we're any less overworked then than we are now–"

"You've got sales targets now," Minseok reminds them. Baekhyun kicks him under the table. "I'm just saying!"

Baekhyun locks his arms behind his back and leans against them. "Wish I could go back sometimes. Live a simpler life or something. Not always be on my toes and be this 'perfect guy' I have to be."

Hardly, Minseok wants to say – Baekhyun's hardly forced to play the part of the role model, the perfect idol. That's Lu Han's job and, to an extent, Joonmyun's. Joonmyun has a good enough following that he may very well be the 'idol' of managers in different entertainment companies. As the band's frontliner, meanwhile, Baekhyun's job is to seduce people, lure them in and make sure they get stuck to their sticky music. Make them believe that all of their songs are for the people in the concert or within their two-kilometer radius. Baekhyun's voice makes that easy, doesn't allow people to escape or even think of looking over his shoulder. It's so sickeningly addictive. Minseok might have fallen in love with it years back. Joonmyun might still be in love with it. Just maybe.

Also, hardly – life in the past isn't always that simple. Some have had it harder than the most. Baekhyun and Yixing just happened to have a good enough childhood that they'd give everything to go back to it. Minseok, however… He isn't sure yet.

"So you're saying," Minseok begins, then swallows the piece of meat stuck in his throat. "That you'd give _everything_ to go back to floating in space and not being sure if you'll even debut–"

Baekhyun groans. "That's not what I meant"

The conversation dissolves into hiccuped laughter, and Yixing introduces soju to the meal halfway through. Minseok hesitates, for a moment, but the smiles on Yixing and Baekhyun's faces are almost worth the trouble. So he takes a shot, and another, and another, until he recounts the many reasons why he'll regret this later, during his 5 p.m. yoga session, until he reminds himself that he's way past thirty and that he shouldn't be doing stupid things.

"One more, hyung," Baekhyun singsongs, face dangerously close to Minseok's. His cheeks are pink and his nose is red. His breath stinks but his lips are probably sweet. Minseok doesn't lean in.

He takes the shot and asks for three glasses of cold water.

☄

Baekhyun and Yixing's alcohol tolerance is so low that it's laughable. A few shots in and both of them are already giggly, but maybe it's just the fatigue at work. So Minseok takes the remaining shots, promptly remembers why he isn't so fond of drinking _especially_ in broad daylight. Looking at himself in the mirror now, he can spot a few pimples. He'll regret these tomorrow, or even later; the rumbly stomach, even more.

Three soft knocks on the door remind him of two things – one, that he's in a public restroom; and two, that he's got kids to take back to the gym waiting for him outside.

Minseok splashes water on his face one last time and wipes his face clean before opening the door. He stumbles backward a little when he looks up. It's got to be the alcohol talking.

"Oh, hi," says a familiar voice, and Minseok has to blink again because he might just be hearing things again. A voice in his head, like the one that's been plaguing him for days now. "Can I… use the restroom?"

"I know you," Minseok says. He clears his throat, then, after seeing the way the other guy furrows his eyebrows. "We know each other. Performance art show last weekend. The dancers _sucked._ "

"Oh," says the guy again. Minseok feels his chest constrict, the corners of his mouth tug up, his fingers ball into a fist. He's not yet drunk. "I guess you're not too nice when you're drunk?"

"Not drunk," Minseok argues.

"Yeah, sure." The guy pulls him by the wrist, then makes him lean against the wall. "I'll bring you back to your table later. I just… have to pee."

Pee guy does escort him back to his table once he's done with his thing in the restroom, helps him feel for his wallet and pay for the food, and somehow brings him and the other two back to Gangnam. Only two hours after, when Joonmyun shows up at the gym with his hands on his hips and a lips drawn into a straight, straight line, does Minseok realize that he never thanked the man for getting him back to Gangnam in one piece. Never thanked the man for making sure Baekhyun and Yixing were safe, too, and didn't even ask for anything in return.

It wasn't until then that he realized he hadn't even gotten the guy's name for the second time around. They should stop meeting like this. It's not as if they'll ever meet again.

☄

"Your savior's pretty cute," Jongdae mentions after Minseok's 5 p.m. yoga class. "Has a cute little ass. Y'know, the type that you'd totally squeeze."

Minseok means to kick Jongdae under the table, but his best effort only leaves the edge of his toes grazing Jongdae's ankle. It's better than expected, though – the last time he turned up inebriated at the gym, Jongdae had to look for a sub who could take over Minseok's classes. EXO was on break, too, that time, and while Minseok knows better than to allow himself a few instances of complete lack of control, the group and Joonmyun only get so many breaks, as well. So while he's _supposed_ to have a choice, Baekhyun or Joonmyun (and Yixing, and Chanyeol, and Lu Han) always convince him that everytime he declines an invitation to drink outside, a poor little cat dies. The resolve is strong but the heart is weak. And Joonmyun knows exactly where and how to strike. He knows Minseok inside and out.

"Did you?" Minseok asks after a while. Jongdae surveys him with a curious glance, then presses a cold bottle of Gatorade to his cheek. "I know self-control isn't your middle name."

"You're right, because it's my _first,_ " Jongdae says, grinning. "But nah, I didn't. He seemed like the type who'd kill me if I so much as thought of touching him."

Minseok cocks an eyebrow and tries to gather images of the man in his mind. The smile isn't threatening; not even the wry smile or the confident tilt of the head are. "It's just you."

Jongdae shakes his head, then scoots closer when Minseok leans on his arm. "Yeah. Because apparently, I repel boys." Jongdae chuckles. "Juk for dinner?"

Minseok passes on the offer and solicits Jongdae's help to get home, instead.

People say that seaweed soup is the cure-all for a hangover, but years of drinking (and responsibly, at that) has taught him that the best way to counter another hangover is with a bottle of beer. Just a bottle, because any more than that will aggravate the headache. He convinces Jongdae that it's wise to leave him at a convenience store, and Jongdae sends him a flurry of texts every five minutes just to check where he is. The first five minutes they were apart, Jongdae asked how he was. The next five, Jongdae asked if he was puking, feeling queasy, _you want me to take you home, hyung?_ Two things are undeniable about Jongdae – his ability to draw in a crowd and make everyone feel welcome, and his inability to not worry about every single thing. So Minseok tries hard not to slur his words or seethe whenever a sharp pain shoots up his temples while talking to Jongdae on the phone.

"Yeah, I'm alive, just… looking for something," he mumbles into the receiver for the third time. He's been looking for that _something_ for more than ten minutes already. He looks around, takes two bags of chips, then gets a bottle of cerveza. Dumps one pack of baby wipes, too, and a hand sanitizer. He ran out of those the other day. He grabs a pack of Mentos, too, because why the hell not? "Huh? I'm not drinking. I'm just buying food."

"The convenience store only has chips and instant food," Jongdae mumbles. "You hate both."

"I can live with chips." Minseok rummages through the shelf, spots a bag of jalapeno Cheetos at the back. "Especially if they're the spicy kind. Don't worry, _I'll live._ "

Jongdae rattles on about Minseok needing to get some rest and maybe taking the morning off tomorrow because _people in their thirties need twelve hours to recover from drunkenness._ Minseok doesn't even try to argue, simply states his case that he's fine and maybe he just needs to sleep. For five hours and not the entire morning, because Club Espresso serves the best morning coffee even if it's a good hour away from Gangnam.

"And no, you don't have to– I can just meet you there if you want to–" Minseok presses his lips thinly together, but remembers to smile at the lady at the counter. He hands a couple of ten thousand won bills, then bows to her before taking his plastic bag. "Yes, I'll just meet you there. 9 a.m.. I'll drive. I won't be hungover."

Minseok catches a snort, then, just over his shoulder. The quick pull at the corners of his mouth is difficult to fight.

He waits for the man to finish paying for his purchases – a couple of cans of beer, tofu chips, three pieces of banana, and a tube of Berocca – before striking a conversation or at least trying to explain himself. It's silly, he doesn't even owe this man an explanation, and if anything _he's_ the one being owed to. A name would suffice; his phone number scribbled on a piece of paper, even better. But it still feels weird, running into the same guy twice in the same day, thrice in the same week.

"Glad to see you're still in one piece," says the man once he's done. He eyes the bag of Cheetos in Minseok's bag, then continues, "I was supposed to get that, but you need it more than I do."

"I'm not drunk."

"Not anymore." The man chuckles.

His big eyes look sullen, or maybe that's just the pull of the dark circles talking. In the poor lighting of the convenience store, out here where Minseok can actually _look_ at the man, he looks much… older. Overworked by years, or maybe experience. The first time he saw him at the restaurant, he was wearing glasses and they barely faced each other for more than five minutes. Five minutes isn't enough to full acquaint oneself with a stranger. Minseok hasn't even seen the way the man moves yet, but he has his laughter memorized at the very back of his mind. He hears it again, as the man stares at him with big, discerning eyes. His lips quirk up. He smiles like a fucking teenager, playful yet tentative, corners tugging up and down, giving up and giving in in equal parts.

"Thank you for taking me and my friends back to the gym," Minseok finally says. "And I'm sorry for the inconvenience. You didn't have to."

"I didn't exactly have a choice. You were slumped against the door when I was trying to get out." The man snorts, lighter this time, and he rubs the tip of his nose. Minseok's eyes are drawn to his lips again – the man keeps worrying them, nipping at the skin, like if he stopped he'd lose the feeling in his mouth. "It's okay. And you have… famous friends. Should've recognized the guy you were with in the restaurant."

Minseok exhales, finds it in his heart to laugh a little. "I guess he really _does_ have fans." He extends his hand, then, and flashes his best smile. "Kim Minseok. Nice to meet you."

The man stares at him with a curious gaze, the furrow of his eyebrows light, questioning. He looks at Minseok's outstretched hand, and Minseok tries not to shake. He's good at holding poses, controlling muscles, keeping himself in check, so runs that thought in his mind, again and again until he feels the tips of his fingers tingle. It's the foundation of his work – that, and proper breathing. Minseok tries to breathe, too, as he waits, throat constricting in anticipation.

"Do Kyungsoo," the man says. He reaches out, meets Minseok's hand halfway. The pads of his fingers are cold. Minseok tries not to chuckle. "Nice to _finally_ know your name."

Minseok gives Kyungsoo's hand a light squeeze then pulls away, but Kyungsoo stays there a little longer. His fingers have become warm again, the press of their palms hot, a bit sticky. Out here in busy Apgeujong, at the door of a convenience store, Minseok takes a leap of faith and doesn't move, doesn't do anything but keep his hand in the tiny fit of Kyungsoo's own. He doesn't, until Kyungsoo pulls away and stuffs one hand in his pocket, fumbles with his plastic bag with the other.

"You live nearby?" Minseok asks. Kyungsoo looks up, then shakes his head. "Why are you here, then?"

"Figured I'd go around for a walk after dropping you and your friends off at the gym." Because it's normal to take a stroll down the streets of Gangnam with the budding winds of autumn blowing, of course. Minseok doesn't question the logic, simply nods and smiles when Kyungsoo starts to walk, small steps matching that of Minseok's. The spell breaks when they turn around the block, Minseok heading to his car and Kyungsoo to the opposite direction. "You're sober enough to drive?"

"We've just met," Minseok replies. "You don't know what I'm capable of even when I'm drunk." One half-truth, and then a real one – Minseok can even drive a drunk with alcohol in his system.

"Suit yourself," Kyungsoo says. "Stay alive, Kim Minseok."

Minseok ducks in his car, but sticks his head out as he gives Kyungsoo a wave. "And you, too!"

Kyungsoo stays rooted in his spot as Minseok starts the engine. Minseok looks out the window, at the street, at Kyungsoo. He takes a deep breath. There's no point in letting Kyungsoo in his car for a lift when Kyungsoo doesn't even live in the area, or when half of Kyungsoo's body is saying that he should go and the other half is still thinking if he should stay. It's there in the twist of his torso, in the quirk of his lips, in the way Kyungsoo keeps his eyes on Minseok's steering wheel but only just. Doesn't take a step closer to ask he could hitch a ride.

They've just met. He barely knows anything about Kyungsoo other than he has a knack for showing up in places that trap Minseok in sticky situations. So he drives away, doesn't look back. If he ever thinks of turning around to ask Kyungsoo to ride with him, he doesn't. Instead, he turns up the radio and lets Vonda Shepard sing until he gets home.

☄

EXO hole themselves in the company building the week after. The sudden silence hits Minseok again, makes the glaring hole in his schedule more obvious when Jongdae says, from behind the counter, "You're bored." Minseok doesn't look over his shoulder to address Jongdae, but he does raise a fist. Jongdae makes this weird crooning sound, and then there's the sound of the blender drowning his humming. "It's not bad to be bored. It's just bad to _sulk_ and be bored because your kids are gone and The One got away again."

Jongdae hands him a smoothie and he offers a wry smile in response. "I'm not sulking. Just… trying to think of something to do." He takes a sip of his drink, and then another, and the next time he does brain freeze hits him twice as harder. "TRAX is on a tour so there goes my basketball sessions. Infinite's got abs already and they just finished doing a summer photoshoot somewhere so they'll probably be getting back on tour–"

"They did the shoot in Saipan," Jongdae supplies. He snatches the glass from Minseok then whispers, _thanks, hyung._ "Great work on that, by the way. Myungsoo looks healthier now. He looks _alive._ "

"Fell in love with yoga, that kid and Howon." Minseok chuckles. He can still recall those months when Myungsoo and Howon would show up at the studio an hour before the yoga class started. They'd be warming up already, helping each other stretch. Howon would help Myungsoo with trying to recall the dance in their Zumba session the night before. Myungsoo would help Howon calm down, forget dancing for a while, _focus on the morning session, hyung. Focus._ But it's hard. Dancing is not a switch you can just turn on and off. It's another life form living inside you, a tiny vessel in your chest that tells your muscles how to move and how to react to movement. And once the gears get grinding, there's no turning back. It's an endless journey from there, and the only way to go is to push oneself harder–

"They liked Zumba, too, even if Sehun's a lameass teacher." Good thing Sehun isn't around to beat Jongdae up. Too bad he isn't, because Minseok won't be able to see his silly expressions and his failed attempt at socking Jongdae in the gut. "Wanna give that a shot? Teach dance or something?"

Minseok takes a deep breath, exhales loudly. "We've talked about this."

"It was worth a shot," Jongdae answers, nudging him in his side. There's a small smile on Jongdae's lips. Minseok hasn't worked here for years to not know what that means.

What it means, in essence, is that Minseok should head out lest Jongdae give him another speech on the perks of getting back to dancing. _It's in your blood. So why try to get rid of it?_ he remembers Jongdae saying back then, when they were still in high school. Even if Jongdae was two years his junior, he spoke like someone older, wiser. More courageous, less uncertain of what he wanted to pursue in life. He was the one who took up ballet and then did jazz and street dance on the side. He wasn't the most coordinated of people, but he was so passionate about dancing that most can look past that shortcoming. Sure, Jongdae falls on his ass from time to time – every dancer experiences that – but after that, after laughing, he'll get back on his feel and dance his heart out. Drag Minseok into his mess and coax some moves out of Minseok until he couldn't anymore.

"You know what happened, Dae," Minseok mumbles now, then pushes himself off his chair. "It's not easy to just forget it."

"It's been years, hyung."

" _It's not easy._ "

"Nothing good ever comes out of 'easy'," Jongdae says, gaze focused on Minseok and nothing, nobody else. A thick blanket of silence wraps around them, grips at Minseok's throat so tight that his chest heaves. "And trust me, hyung, I know it hasn't been easy for you. Driving your own car was step one for you, but you've been stuck there for _years._ " Jongdae cocks his head, eyebrows furrowing and lips tugging down in accord. It doesn't suit him at all. It makes Jongdae look like a mime with sad, sad eyes and lips. "Don't you think it's time to move on to step two?"

Minseok holds Jongdae's gaze for a second, then looks to his side. "There is no step two. There's no running away from this."

"You're not running away. You won't," Jongdae interrupts. "But there's no harm in, y'know, taking one step forward. Just a little booty shake, hyung. C'mon, you can do that right?"

Minseok chuckles, then, lets out the laugh that has been tickling his throat for the past minute. He gives his hips a shake, and Jongdae cackles in surprise. In a moment of surrender, Minseok lets himself be dragged to the dance room and sways just a little, giving in to the rhythm of Jongdae's body.

☄

COEX is a good fifteen minute walk from the gym. Joonmyun insists to take the longer route, preferring to pass by dark alleys than the well-lit ones. Minseok keeps his companion close – if there's anything that years of being friends with Joonmyun has taught him, it's that Joonmyun, for all of his wit, gets lost easily. So he hooks arm arm around Joonmyun's own and whispers, "For your safety," when Joonmyun grunts.

"I'm not a kid."

"Yes. But you're bad with directions. Also, finding your way back." Minseok pulls Joonmyun to the left when they reach a corner, and then he lets go. The city lights are bright around them again. Joonmyun straightens up, fumbles with the hem of his shirt. "Jongdae's asking if you're free this weekend. For dinner. It's his–"

"–birthday. _Shit._ " Joonmyun groans. "On a scale of asshat to ten, ten being not-really-bad-but-could-do-better, how terrible a friend am I?"

Minseok runs a hand down Joonmyun's spine. He doesn't miss the light shiver of Joonmyun's body, or the way Joonmyun tenses at the first touch. It's quick, though, the way Joonmyun eases himself into the situation, activates one of those manager skills he's gotten from all those years taking care of EXO. His body gives a tiny shake and then he's standing straight again, chin up.

"Really bad. But don't feel too bad about it. Jongdae's an asshole, too."

"No, you don't get it. There's a difference between ass _hat_ and ass _hole_ –"

"And the difference is _you,_ " Minseok finishes. He ruffles Joonmyun's hair. Joonmyun looks around for an audience first before scooting closer, leaning in just a little. They're almost shoulder-to-shoulder now. "Where's the exhibit again?"

Joonmyun only sneaks a glance before saying, "Art Hall. They've got food. We can eat out after the opening, if ever."

The exhibit turns out to be a collaboration between two artists and a brand. Joonmyun's friends with one of the exhibitors, and Minseok doesn't even ask how Joonmyun knows this friend of his. The attendance isn't completely altruistic – Joonmyun's here to make friends, drop the casual word about EXO's upcoming single, maybe get someone to create a great cover for them. He might find what he's looking for, and whoever he gets will get a great deal out of this. It will look great on the artist's portfolio – album jacket design for EXO's single _Wolf_. It will probably look ten times better than those polarized images they used in the previous covers. That's the great thing about physical albums – Minseok only ever has to look at the cover once, and that's when he's extracting the tracks to his iTunes. After that, he can delete the album art on the program, forget the ugly cover ever existed. If he's feeling anal about his library's organization then he'll just have to live with the ugly art. If there's a secret skill he has, it's dealing with the shit he brings upon himself. He's good at that.

"You remember Kibum, right? You met him when you were still–" Joonmyun words trail off when someone greets him, a familiar face Minseok swears to God he can't recognize. Probably someone from college, because Joonmyun's recounting to him stories of when they were in the debate team. And then another to Joonmyun's left, more serious-looking this time. Minseok keeps a smile intact the whole time, careful not to let his features falter. Joonmyun's chooses him over Jongdae for occasions like this for a reason, or maybe several reasons. Being in complete control of his facial muscles is one of them.

Only ten minutes after, when they've signed the guest book once and for all, does Minseok catch sight of Kibum. He excuses himself from Joonmyun, says he'll find him later and that _I'll take care of Kibum and you take care of your business._ Slowly, he feels the knots of tension in his shoulders ease, loosen up. Kibum picks up a wine glass along the way and hands it to Minseok in greeting.

"So is this your way of covering for Joonmyun? Because he's out to make people fall in love with him again?"

"I won't tell him you found out," Minseok replies, grinning. He keeps a steady hand on the glass when Kibum envelops him in an embrace.

The huge difference between the art styles catches him off-guard when Kibum drags him further into the exhibit. It isn't so drastic – Kibum's impressionist art isn't so far from that of his co-exhibitor's, but the stroke and use of colors is different. Whatever lack of big, bold brush strokes there is in Kibum's paintings, he finds in the other works. If Kibum's paintings make use of light colors, striking contrasts in combinations, it's all dark and muted colors in the works of the other exhibitor's. It's a nice contrast that lends well to what each other's work is lacking. It's almost as if Kibum has found someone whose art style complements his and doesn't overpower it.

"This one with the monsters? Got sold right after ribbon-cutting," Kibum whispers in his ear. They take a sip and exchange smiles with a few faces, all familiar to Kibum but otherwise forgettable. "The next bidder wanted a repaint, but of course everyone knows that's impossible. So my friend said, 'maybe you'd be interested in this'. And he pointed at that one, over there–" Kibum gestures at the painting at the far end of the place. The light doesn't quite reach the area, but he sees just enough of the features to feel a shiver roll down his spine. "Because it's basically the same banana! Except that one's a girl and this one's a monster!"

"They're not the same banana."

" _Hyung,_ that's not my point. The message, the message!" Kibum sets his wine glass down on the tray near them and grabs two new glasses. "More wine?"

Minseok narrows his eyes and mouths a 'thank you' at the waiter. "For me, yes. You? Nope. You've got guests to entertain."

" _But hyung–_ " Kibum groans. "Fine. Take the wine. Just come with me. I'll show you the other paintings. I love talking about someone else's life."

"Ah." Minseok nods, slow and deliberate. The wine stings his tongue. "You haven't changed."

They turn a corner to survey the other paintings, and Minseok catches sight of a familiar face. This is crazy, he wants to say – Minseok being in Gangnam isn't the strangest thing because he lives here, he breathes Gangnam air, drinks Gangnam water. Kyungsoo being in Gangnam, however, is… isn't normal. In all the years Minseok has lived in Gangnam, he's never bumped into a 'stranger' this frequently, and in such funny occasions either. The first encounter was a drive-by conversation; the second, getting Minseok and company to safety. The third is an extension of the previous. And then they're back to art, except on paper and not on skin. This, at least, lends some semblance of 'home' to Minseok. Something he's come to get used to.

"You're here," Minseok says when their eyes meet.

Kyungsoo chuckles, but cocks an eyebrow. " _You're_ here." He looks at Kibum, then, "You're babysitting?"

Kibum uncurls his fingers on Minseok's wrist, but pins him right in place with his gaze. "You know each other?" he asks, then, eyeing both Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo whispers to the person he was talking to before coming over. "Hyung, you have friends _outside of work?_ You know _other people?_ "

"I'm one of those people," Kyungsoo teases. His voice is steady, though, unfazed. To Minseok, he asks, "You're older than Kibum? Because if you are–"

Minseok takes a deep breath and nods. "Sometimes, it's a curse." Kibum pinches him in the arm. "And yes, Kibummie, your hyung knows how to make friends _without people forcing him to._ "

"I'm so sorry," Kyungsoo mumbles. He gives Minseok a curt nod. "Hyung. I should… probably call you that from now on."

He leans back and looks at Kyungsoo from head to toe. Decked in a suit and with his hair slicked back, this Kyungsoo looks different from the one he met at the restaurant after the show, or the guy who dragged him from Insadong to Gangnam a week ago. This Kyungsoo looks more distant, _guarded._ His smile is tight at the corners, and his eyes are hooded. It's like he's locked a default expression onto his face because he doesn't have his bangs to cover his eyes, doesn't have a first line of defense. His shoulder are drawn back unlike the way they'd been the other day, when they parted at the parking lot. If he looked older before in pale, white light, this get up makes him look like a kid playing dress up. The bowtie is a nice touch, though – the red and white polka dots on red are a nice contrast to the ensemble.

"You're here for a friend?" Minseok asks to fill the silence.

Kyungsoo stops worrying his bottom lip. Beside Minseok, Kibum stands straight. Minseok moves his hands to Kibum's shoulders, pulling them back completely out of habit. "I'm here to support Kibummie, yes. Tried calling him 'hyung' before but he insisted not to." A corner of his lips quirks up. "And myself, even if that sounds weird."

"You're the–" Minseok looks over his shoulder, to his left and right, at the painting of the girl staring at him from a few feet away. "You're the co-exhibitor? _You painted the monsters thing?_ "

"For the record, I said 'fears' when I explained it to him," Kibum says. Kyungsoo responds with a roll of the eyes, and eludes the punch Kibum throws at him.

"Yeah, I painted the 'monsters thing'. I mean yes, I did, hyung," Kyungsoo replies. "You liked it?"

Minseok takes a sip of his wine. "Freaked me out a bit," he teases. Kyungsoo's lips do that tiny pouting thing where they're not jutted out, but they're not quite sucked in. "It's amazing. This one, though…"

"The girl?"

"Not just a girl, I think," Minseok mumbles. "Nightmares? Regrets?"

Kibum is quick to scoff, but Kyungsoo stays still, the only sign of movement in his features the light twitch of his eye. There isn't much light here, but up close Minseok can study the details of the painting better. There are streaks of light on the girl's bangs, and she's wearing a bunny headband. There are red stars on her cheeks, the tips of the top triangle glistening with tears. Is she crying? Maybe it's just sweat. Maybe she did something bad and she can't keep it in, can't keep her joy inside. Her lips are quirked up _just a little_ , and a hint of her eyebags peeks from her long bangs. She doesn't even have a nose. Minseok can't see her nose. She isn't breathing.

"Regrets, definitely," Minseok says after a while. There's a wild thumping in his chest. He takes a few quick breaths to steady himself, but even that does nothing. Nothing, save for the strong grip on his wrist, plants him firmly in place, stops his knees from shaking. Nothing but Kyungsoo's steady hold. Nothing but Kyungsoo saying, with a lilt in his voice, "Interesting."

"That's actually a doll from his childhood. Back when he was still peeing in his pants," Kibum offers. Kyungsoo only offers a wry smile in response. Minseok looks away so that he doesn't have to address Kyungsoo twisting his elbow in Kibum's stomach. "Not a doll! A figurine! The girl you always drew on your notebook! The woman of your dreams!"

Minseok glances at the painting one more time, and then looks at Kyungsoo. The semblance in striking.

☄

The guy with too many eyes and the number 23 jersey, Kyungsoo calls it "The Other Kibum".

"I was inspired then, when I worked on it," Kyungsoo manages to say in between seething and wincing. Minseok doesn't want to know of the activity under the table, but judging from the look on Kyungsoo's face it isn't anything unsafe for public viewing. Kyungsoo presses a fist to Kibum's shoulder, then, but doesn't quite punch him, only twists his fist until his knuckles are digging into Kibum's skin. Beside Minseok, Joonmyun's laughter draws to a gradual halt.

He can feel Joonmyun's hand on his thigh, slowly clenching into a fist. Joonmyun's hands are cold. There's a reason for Minseok to rest a hand on Joonmyun's own.

"Could've been you, hyung," Kibum says, looking at Minseok. "If you two met earlier. I don't think I've seen anyone get along with Kyungsoo so easily."

"You make him sound like–"

"An insufferable asshole," Kibum finishes. " _Hole,_ not hat, because there's a difference."

Joonmyun's features light up. "See? Someone understands!"

The thing about Kyungsoo, though, isn't that he's not so fond of social situations. Kyungsoo is, in fact – Minseok sees it in the way Kyungsoo's eyes glimmer when Joonmyun talks about performance art, painting on a huge canvas, brush strokes and all that. He sees it in the way the small, almost indiscernible smile on Kyungsoo's lips blooms into something bigger, brighter. A bold sense of happiness that reaches the corners of his eyes and makes them crinkle. When Kyungsoo laughs, at Kibum's jokes or at the casual way Joonmyun deflects all of Kibum's arguments but succumbs to them just as easily, his eyes turn into half-moon crescents. His top lip arcs up, and the corners of his mouth stretch into a full, heart-shaped smile. And then Minseok hears it – a steady drumbeat, then a piano sequence. A second melody to the piano. Dramatic upsound, and a shrill guitar riff.

His body jerks in response. Kibum's making fun of Joonmyun now, and Kyungsoo looks up at him from his eyelashes. His lips hang loosely from the edge of the glass and shit, Minseok thinks, this is the perfect lighting for Kyungsoo. The yellow light casts him a warm glow, makes him look more alive. There's catch light in his eyes. From where Minseok is, Kyungsoo looks like he has just the ghost of a dimple on his cheeks. It softens the entire package, like Kyungsoo's just thrown away the bowtie and ruffled his own hair, wax and all.

This is it, Minseok thinks, the Kyungsoo reflected in half of his painting. This is the girl trying to scare the fear and regret out of you so you can take that leap of faith you've long been preparing for.

"How much is that painting?" Minseok asks, then. Kyungsoo chokes a bit on his water, but swallows the lump in one big gulp. "The one with the girl with the bunny ears – are you selling that one?"

"It's pretty special," Kyungsoo says, voice just above a whisper. His syllables are drawn out, but he isn't drawling them. It's like he's processing each syllable, each sound, each lilt of his voice. He worries his bottom lip but keeps his gaze there, fixed on Minseok's own.

Minseok has spent years teaching people to know their body better and this – this one Minseok knows all too well. This is apprehension. A fear of not being certain. Possibly regret, that if he ever lets the painting go, he'll never have anything quite like it ever again.

"It wasn't," Kyungsoo admits after a while. He scratches a corner of his eye, the one that's crinkled just a little like he still hasn't come down from his fit of laughter. "It can be. We can… work out the details of the payment, if you want."

Minseok nods, and only then does he realize that he's held in his breath for so long. "Great," he says, then fishes for his calling card. He'll have to complain about this to Jongdae – an illustration of butts isn't the most professional-looking logo. "This is my number. It takes a while for me to reply to texts so–"

"You… You're a yoga instructor?" Kyungsoo laughs a little. "Could've sworn you gave off the dancer vibe. I mean, you saw that tiny slip back in–"

"I _am_ a yoga instructor. And I used to dance," Minseok confirms. He tries to pull up the corners of his mouth, but the stretch stings. Still, he tries his best. If he squints hard enough, he'll see the wry smile on his lips reflected in Minseok's eyes.

Kyungsoo blinks at him several times, a light furrow in his eyebrows, and then it's gone. He leans back into his seat, then drinks his water all in one gulp. "Got it. Here's mine."

Minseok accepts the calling card with both hands, then runs his thumb along the varnished part of the board. There's a simple, textured brush stroke in the background, then Kyungsoo's name and contact details written in big, bold characters. Tiny stars separating each detail – mobile number, fax number, email address. A Behance address. "Who uses a fax machine these days?" is Minseok's only comment, and Kyungsoo shakes his head in response, laughter slipping from his lips, completely unguarded.

☄

Trudging the streets of Gangnam at two in the morning isn't so bad. They'd sent Kibum and Joonmyun home just a few minutes ago in one cab since they live in the same building, but not without putting up a fight at first. "I can drive," Joonmyun had argued, and only after ten reminders did he realize that, "Yeah, that's right, I didn't bring my car– We walked to COEX–" Shit happens to you when you're thirty-something and you're still getting yourself ass drunk on a Friday. After seeing an art exhibit. After discussing at length the theory behind the proper brush strokes and the emotion each stroke conveys.

"It's like… What do you call that…" Kyungsoo gesticulates in the air, worrying his bottom lip as he searches for the right word. Minseok has his arms folded in front of him, pinching himself in an effort to keep himself awake. Someone has to be sober enough to get them to the next block, and then the next, and then the next. " _Ah,_ like isolation. The dance technique, you know that? I'm not a great dancer but I watch _So You Think You Can Dance–_ "

Minseok surrenders to the urge to pinch his nose, and Kyungsoo lets out a small giggle. An hour ago, he was still snorting. The three bottles of soju are to blame. "Which season are you in?"

"Don't change the topic."

" _Manners._ "

Kyungsoo stops in front of him, leaning forward. "Don't change the topic, _hyung._ "

They're at the corner of the block, and Minseok's house is just a good ten-minute walk away. Or fifteen, if he has to drag Kyungsoo's drunk ass all the way to his flat. It's not an option. Kyungsoo should be getting a cab here, should have gotten on a cab with Kibum minutes ago because he came to the exhibit with Kibum, not Minseok. But Kibum was headed in the other direction and Kyungsoo had insisted then, warm fingers wrapped around Minseok's wrist, "Let's go this way, hyung. _This way, come on._ " He can smell Kyungsoo's breath, a mix of wine and soju and something else Minseok can't seem to place. The light from the lamp casts a soft glow on Kyungsoo, paints his cheek a light shade of pink.

Kyungsoo's lips are chapped. He's worrying them again. Kyungsoo should stop doing that, Minseok thinks.

Kyungsoo's humming and his face is a bit too close. Minseok's house is just two blocks away and _shit,_ his mind is swirling, swimming in some vast body of water. There's a fish in there, somewhere, that looks a lot like the girl in the painting. Except it has eyes, and they're staring at Minseok in the face, and they're saying, _come closer. If there's anything you're looking for, you only need to come closer–_

"Where do you live?" Minseok asks, whispers.

Kyungsoo's face falls forward, stops when they collide, forehead to forehead. "Gyeonggi-do."

"That's far."

"Yeah." Kyungsoo scrunches his nose. "But I'm staying at Ilsandong."

"That's still…" Kyungsoo licks his bottom lip and Minseok swallows hard. "That's still far."

"Yeah," Kyungsoo says again. A heartbeat, and then, "Do you have Kibum's address?"

Minseok leans back and rests his hands on Kyungsoo's shoulders. Kyungsoo's body gives a tiny jerk that reaches his eyes, makes them look back at Minseok at full attention. Kyungsoo's awake now, or at least he isn't sleepwalking anymore. With just the right amount of consciousness, Kyungsoo straightens up. He doesn't shrug off Minseok's hands. "Think you can walk two more blocks?"

Kyungsoo blinks again, intervals more drawn out this time. "Yeah, I guess I can. Why?"

"Stay at my place," Minseok whispers. "If… If anything happens to you, the police will be hounding me for it. Probably." Kyungsoo scoffs. "For my peace of mind."

"You worry too much."

Minseok cocks an eyebrow, but only shakes his head in response.

They fall into step on their way to his flat, knuckles brushing against each other from time to time. Kyungsoo flinches the first few times, but comes to brush it off after a while. Halfway through, Kyungsoo begins to bob his head to a melody only he hears. Minseok risks once glance at Kyungsoo and he gets it, sort of, the song Kyungsoo's trying to sing. It's there, at the tip of his tongue, words tumbling from his lips but scrambling for purchase for fear of saying something wrong. It's at the pads of Minseok's fingers, the tips of his toes. In the sway of his shoulders that's set to the steady bobbing of Kyungsoo's head as they inch closer to their destination.

When they reach the staircase to the entrance, Minseok catches Kyungsoo humming. Kyungsoo raises his eyebrows, but doesn't stop singing. And Minseok doesn't stop bobbing his head, either.

☄

_Thanks for the couch. It was warm and comfy,_ one note says. The other, _The coffee in Club Espresso is good. Great for hangovers._

It takes Minseok a few reads until his mind processes the entire thing. He was hugging his coat when he woke up. His clothes are on the floor but he's still wearing his underwear. There's a folded blanket on his couch, and some of his pillows are stacked one on top of the other on it. There's no Do Kyungsoo in sight despite the distant memory of struggling with the keys to his flat and Kyungsoo giggling beside him. He runs a thumb over the notes again and again, then gives them one last read. And then everything clicks, even the tiny series of numbers scribbled at the bottom of the paper.

He holds up the pink sticky note against the light and whispers, "What will I do with you?"

He glances at the wall clock and feels a dull ache at the back of his head, his calves, his back. Shit, he thinks. It's ten in the morning and he's supposed to be somewhere north of the river in two hours. He doesn't even know the exact location yet.

Shit, he thinks when he catches sight of the pink paper again – he wants to see Kyungsoo, one more time. Or maybe he needs to. There's a transaction to be ironed out, a painting to be won. He has to know what song it was that Kyungsoo was singing last night.

 _For my peace of mind,_ a voice at the back of his head says. It doesn't sound like him.

He searches for his phone, groaning when he finds it buried in his pillows. It takes five whole minute to type a message to Joonmyun to ask for directions, and another five to convince himself that his bed is the work of the devil. He gathers a fresh change of clothes decent enough for a meet up but types a quick text before hitting the showers. Only when he emerges from the bathroom, water dripping down his chest, does he look at the message again, rewrite it, then erase it altogether.

He sticks the pink Post-it to the screen so he won't forget. Buries his phone deep in his pocket so that he will, even if only for the next two, three hours.

He heads out of his house and straight to the parking lot once he gathers himself again. He puts Jason Mraz songs on full blast and tries to drown out Kyungsoo's voice – his low, steady humming, and then traces of the song he sang at midnight – from his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

"My two best friends show up hungover on my birthday. _On time._ " Jongdae takes a deep breath, but the smile on his lips hasn't faded yet. "This is gonna be good."

Joonmyun looks normal, for the most part – neatly combed hair, white polo rolled up to his elbow, light jeans. Minseok has seen this before, in one of those airport pictures floating around online. The wry smile and bloodshot eyes, not so much. Joonmyun was wearing sunglasses then, and beside Baekhyun who was, as always, wearing a baggy black shirt and jeans, _he_ looked like a star. Someone from the media asked if he was a new member of the group, if EXO was going to be a project band, _how do the members feel about this?_ The fans answered for him – _he's EXO's manager, but he looks so fine he'd give Baekhyun a run for his money._

Joonmyun's wearing sunglasses today for an entirely different reason. "Ssh. Shut up. Your voice is making my head throb," he mumbles. Jongdae cocks an eyebrow, lips poised to say something, but Joonmyun is quick to give Jongdae a hug. "I got myself drunk last night just for you! Because you keep telling me I don't drink anymore!"

"We've changed for you, bro," Minseok adds. He clasps a hand on Jongdae's shoulders and continues, "For the better."

"You two are the worst," Jongdae groans.

"And you, my dear friend, are the best," Joonmyun says without missing a beat. To the waiter, he says, "Three orders of samgyupsal, please. And... Chilsung cider. Three orders."

"Really laying off the alcohol, huh? Is the hangover that bad?"

Minseok heaves a sigh. "It's not the hangover, really. It's more of–"

What happened last night, abusing his throat by regaling tales of the past to people he hasn't gone out with a long while. The memory of the fleeting warmth whenever his knuckles brush against Kyungsoo's. Kyungsoo leaning in too close, and then leaning back. Walking five long blocks from COEX to his house while lugging around alcohol in his body, while fighting the alcohol messing up his mind.

Kyungsoo's breath, hot and warm, against his nape as Minseok fumbled with his keys in an attempt to open the door to his flat. The sinking sensation in his stomach everytime he remembers the moment, the night, the touch.

"More of old age," Minseok finishes. "When was the last time we drunk our asses off and went home past midnight?"

"Before we hit thirty," Joonmyun and Jongdae reply in chorus. They look at each other in the eye and elbow each other in their side. "Jinx!"

Having samgyupsal without soju to help the meat go down their throats is weird, a bit of a challenge when Jongdae does nothing but make lame attempts at making them laugh. The worst part is Joonmyun jumping on the bandwagon and brandishing his own set of jokes at them, half-expecting the two to laugh and half-expecting them to just give him a pointed stare. 70% of the time, it's the former, and by the time they finish everything they've ordered, the dull ache at the back of Minseok's head is already gone.

"You guys up for coffee?" Joonmyun asks once they've settled the bill. Normally, Joonmyun would be the one pulling out his card, whispering to the group, _it's on me,_ but Jongdae beats Joonmyun to it and just tells him, _coffee's on you; dessert's on Minseok-hyung._ "EXO's going to Thailand in three days and then Japan after that so–"

"So we'll see more of your airport fashion," Jongdae teases. He winks at Joonmyun when Joonmyun growls at him – a tiny growl much like that of a cub's. Not intimidating at all. "You ready for the updates, hyung?"

"I'll be at the airport," Minseok adds, chuckling. "And I'll be zooming in on oppa's face so–"

"Buy your own coffee! I am terminating this friendship!"

And yet here they are, in Club Espresso, north of the river and miles away from where they usually stay. Together for the first time in months. Some things aren't as easy as breathing or walking or anything they have grown accustomed to. Reuniting with old friends is tough. The _sorry for always missing out and hardly keeping in touch_ talk had been dramatic, but Joonmyun, for all of his being a crybaby, didn't even shed a tear. So some things can both change _and_ stay the same. Keeping a balance between the two isn't easy. Resisting the slide of Joonmyun's fingers between Minseok's own under the table isn't, either.

"Cake?" Minseok asks, turning to Jongdae for an affirmation.

"Cake," Joonmyun replies. He rubs slow circles on Minseok's skin. Minseok keeps a straight face and doesn't shiver.

☄

Joonmyun excuses himself earlier than expected. The company called, asking him to report to the office because _Baekhyun's sick. He won't be able to fly out. Either the others continue with the fanmeet or we push it back._ "And let's be honest – half of the fans are there for him. He knows that. Everyone knows that," Joonmyun whispers into the receiver long after he's put down his phone. "Of course, they don't want to hear that from me. So I won't say it."

"You just did, perfect manager," Jongdae says. He clasps his hands on Joonmyun's shoulders and gives them a light squeeze. "Go get 'em, hyung. But let us know if they're not flying out, okay? Because we'll be there. For Baekhyunnie-oppa–"

"Shut up," Joonmyun groans.

Minseok casts a glance at Jongdae, then rests one hand on Joonmyun's shoulder. "Wouldn't want to bring my long lenses if Baekhyunnie-oppa isn't there. The lenses are too heavy–"

"I'm really, _really_ ending this friendship–" Joonmyun picks up his bags, hands the one with the card that says 'happy birthday, Jongdae!' to the celebrant. "–and never seeing you two again–"

"The next thing we know, you're already a star, hyung!"

"Don't be a stranger!"

Joonmyun sticks up his middle finger at them _just a little_ before walking through the door. In five seconds flat, he's out of the coffee shop.

"How long 'til we see him again?"

Minseok shrugs. "Half a year? More?" Jongdae moves closer, leans his head on Minseok's shoulder. This – this is familiar. He's no stranger to this. Jongdae's never too hot; at worst, he's at boiling point, but even then the warmth is just enough. Jongdae has a presence soothing enough to loosen the knots in Minseok's chest that he never knew he had. "He was always a bit… you know, elsewhere."

"Wasn't that you?" Jongdae asks, a lilt in his tone. Minseok tilts his head, leans back, meets Jongdae in the eye. "Back in high school, at least. You were in senior year then, and I–"

"Didn't know how to not meddle in my adult business." Minseok reaches up with his hand and ruffles Jongdae's hair. "I'm here now. Just here."

Five seconds of silence, and then Jongdae's sitting up, spine straightening. "Better get a move on. I don't trust Sehun with the machines." 

More like, _I don't trust what you're saying, hyung._ Minseok hears it in the gaps between the syllables, in the hitch in Jongdae's breathing. This part of familiarity he wishes he were a stranger to.

They walk to the car park, knuckles brushing. In the afternoon heat, Minseok winces at every contact, like there's a violent surge of lightning in his veins, his roots, his blood. It feels different with coffee in his system instead of alcohol, without the feeling of regrets and wrong decisions swirling in his head. Sunlight exposes you to a lot of things, little realities – the three centimeters between Minseok and Jongdae, eight inches between their feet. Jongdae intending to go back to Gangnam, and him planning to go to Yeouido for a trip he's long put off.

"Visiting her today?" Jongdae asks halfway through the walk.

Minseok looks to his side and takes a deep breath. "Always. Most Saturdays. Sunday, too, if I can." He rubs the tip of his nose. "First few years, at least. But I do drop by from time to time."

Jongdae narrows his eyes at him. "Seriously. You don't even have to tell her a story." Jongdae steps to his side, narrowly missing a big rock. "She'll be happy to see you."

Minseok snorts. "She wasn't when she woke up. First time it happened, she– You know what happened then." He takes a deep breath, then feels for his keys in his pocket. When he feels an object twice the size of his thumb brush against his skin, he turns to Jongdae and says, "I don't know. We'll see. I'll try to… come closer."

Jongdae stops short in unlocking the doors of his car. "You want me to come with you?"

Tempting, Minseok wants to say, but this isn't something you drag your friends into. It's a matter he has to resolve with himself first, and then with his memories. Once everything's ironed out, he can bring Jongdae to the facility. Maybe even let Jongdae coax Minyoung out of her room, play with people who aren't strangers but aren't the ones she sees on a daily basis. Jongdae's always been better at dealing with people; Minseok's special skill is putting up with them.

"Nah, I'm good." He twirls his keys in his index finger. "Text me when you get back. Don't kill Sehun."

"The machine's would've beaten me to it," Jongdae kids. His eyes say something else, though. "Hey hyung, just… text me? If you need– If you feel like it."

Minseok nods. "I'll try not to get lazy."

They duck into their own cars, then. Jongdae drives off first, but he leaves traces of himself when Minseok hears Jongdae's pop songs through the window. It's that kind of season for Jongdae – he matches his music with the season, the weather, the weather in his stomach. Pop songs are indicative of hope for Jongdae – that he won't maim Sehun if Sehun ever blew up any of the machines. That he won't run into something even with his reckless driving. Underlined twice at the end of the list, that Minseok will take one more step forward instead of forever staying at the other side of the window in the facility.

Minseok turns up his radio and Gabrielle Aplin comes up. Slow, gentle tunes such as this are indicative of something good. So he turns up the volume, allows himself to sway to the music when he reaches a red light.

His phone sounds off and he fishes for it from his pocket. A bright pink sticky note greets him. He looks up at the timer – sixty seconds to spare. Staring at the pink Post-it stuck to his screen shouldn't be a crime. Memorizing the number like the back of his hand, however – that one's the problem.

He inputs the number scrawled at the bottom and types up a message. When the light turns green, he hits the send button before he can even think of deleting his message.

☄

The trip to Yeouido takes a good fifteen minutes by car. Traffic isn't as heavy on a Saturday, and music makes the journey more bearable even under the heat of the sun. The nearest car park is two blocks away from the shelter, so Minseok stays five more minutes in his car, aircon on the highest setting, and lets the music wrap around his neck, creep up the back of his head. He can stay here forever, or for the next hour that he's supposed to spend in the shelter. 'In here' is more inviting than watching someone from the other side of the glass. 'In here' is more comforting than having to talk to social workers and check up on a person whose existence still plagues him.

His phone sounds off twice. His hands move on their own accord, and when he pries one eye open he sees two names on his screen – Jongdae's and Joonmyun's. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for another good minute until he hears the dull ringing of his phone again. Another message, this time just a series of numbers lending to the identity of the texter.

_I have a class to teach this afternoon. Are you okay with dinner?_ the message says. Minseok gulps hard, checks his watch for the time. _Gangnam area, since that's your turf._

_Sounds good. 6pm? I'm coming from Yeouido, just need to take care of some things._ he replies. He types a quick reply, too, to both Joonmyun and Jongdae, and tells them them to never be a stranger, catch up sometime, maybe they can meet in a different country if Joonmyun's too busy to stay for more than five minutes in Korea. You have to do that sometimes, go out of your way, _really_ go out of your way to make things happen. Jongdae's birthday celebration is just the handle; Jongdae blocked off his entire day the minute he heard that Joonmyun was to leave with EXO again days from now. And Minseok who spends Saturday mornings struggling to get himself out of bed just so he could drag himself all the way to Yeouido got up at the first sound of his alarm just to meet up with them in Buam-dong.

He doesn't wait for a reply and, instead, slips his phone in his pocket. The pink Post-it goes in there, too, even if it's made his phone's screen sticky. He locks his car and looks at both sides of the street before crossing.

_Lucky_ is a shelter for people with special needs, specifically those who have been traumatized by really bad accidents or life events. A partner of St. Mary's Hospital, Lucky serves as a home for people who continue to receive treatment from the institution but need to be exposed to the normal day-ins and day-outs of life. And they weren't kidding about the 'home' bit – in all the years that Minseok has been visiting this place, he _has_ felt a bit closer to home. Even the thick glass wall of his sister's confinement chamber – _no,_ her room – can't make him think otherwise.

"She made this last week. Finished it after you left," says Sunyoung, one of the social workers. Almost all the employees here are volunteers who have more time than most people, or maybe more resources. She hands Minseok a thick board, and Minseok swallows hard when he gives the painting a second look. It's the image of a man in his early teenage years in ballet tights. He can recognize that pendant from a mile away. Too bad his sister can't, probably never will. "She hasn't forgotten, oppa. She… she remembers you."

Minseok takes a deep breath. "I don't know, Sunyoung." He runs a thumb along the curve of the person – this image of him – that his sister has drawn. "Remember when she saw me before? Just after the accident? She–"

"That was years ago, oppa."

"And then when I visited her two Christmases ago–"

"Oppa, she _felt_ your fear then. You looked scared as hell." Sunyoung frowns, and Minseok only heaves a sigh as he buries his hands in his pockets. Sunyoung almost always wears a smile, or at least makes people feel like they're something wrong with them if they aren't thinking of being happy. This look is the beginning of frustration, an extension of disappointment. The first time he saw it was two Christmases ago; the second, last Christmas when he shoved his present for his sister in Sunyoung's hands and told her to just give it to her. Tell her that the gift came from Sunyoung and not from her brother.

"A few days ago, I lost my dog," Sunyoung begins, voice dropping to a whisper. "But I had a session with Minyoung, so I said, 'I have to be strong for her. I can't be sad, she can't see me sad.' So I smiled, oppa. I really tried my best. But you know what? The moment I sat beside her, she knew. She took my hand and asked me, 'Sunyoung, what's wrong? Are you okay? You look ugly. You're not smiling.'"

Sunyoung chuckles and Minseok wishes, wishes really hard, that he can do the same. But his chest feels so tight, so heavy, and his whole body is paralyzed. Never mind that his lips are parted and that his mouth hangs open; his body is telling him that he should go there, hug his sister close to his chest, but it's also telling him not to, like he'll explode if doesn't get to hold her this time and blow up even if he does.

"You're not ugly," is the only thing Minseok says. He worries his bottom lip, then adds, "Is she… Is she sad, though?"

Sunyoung looks at Minyoung through the window. "Not sad. Just lost. It's been more than a decade, oppa. She turned legal _in this place._ " Sunyoung heaves a sigh. "Are you never gonna let her find her way back?"

Minseok clenches his fists. "It's… It's not that easy."

It isn't, because if it was then he wouldn't have had to stay from anything related to dancing and cars for an entire year, wouldn't have had to convince himself that not every car would run him over, or crash into another car and take a life. He wouldn't have had to go home with Jongdae everyday and grip Jongdae by the wrist everytime they came across a car, or had to cross the street, or heard a familiar tune that they used to dance to. He wouldn't have had to leave the house he'd inherited from his parents and stay with Jongdae and his parents, instead. If it was easy then Minyoung shouldn't even be there. She should've recovered fully by now, and Minseok wouldn't be lugging his emotional baggage all over town even as he drove across the river.

He was set to perform then, the night of the accident. It was the end-of-the-year showcase of the dance troupe, and his parents were on their way to the hall form work, and it was raining. They were running late, and they were struggling to make it to the venue just so they could catch Minseok performing. Minyoung even had the video camera she'd inherited from one of their cousins and she was supposed to _record the whole thing._ She wanted to be a director someday, create a documentary on ballet because _oppa loves ballet, right? And I love oppa, so I'll do it for him._ And Minseok only wanted Minyoung to be happy even if he didn't like seeing his face in pictures or videos.

Minseok was supposed to dance for them and then watch the footage with them the same night. He wasn't supposed to be crying during the performance _then_ rushing to the hospital just to see if they were, at the very least, breathing.

"It really isn't. I know, oppa, I really do." Sunyoung lays a hand on his shoulder. "But you don't have to punish yourself all the time. You're not the only one in pain here."

Minseok nods, slow and careful, like his head will snap off if he decides to move his head forward with more force than the usual. There's a dull ache on his nape, in his throat. It claws at his chest. "I know."

Sunyoung gives him a long look, then drops her hand to her side. "Her art class is starting in a while. Better back off a little." Sunyoung chuckles. "She doesn't like it when a lot of people are watching her paint.

Minseok lets out an exhale and finally gathers enough energy to smile. "She hasn't changed a bit."

He stays for a few more minutes until Sunyoung has to excuse herself to pick up the art teacher from the entrance. "New guy. Used to help out in our Gyeonggi-do chapter," she says before turning around to leave.

Minseok gives his sister one last look before heading to the administrator's office to check Minyoung's records.

☄

The funny thing about coincidences is that they aren't easy to ignore.

He runs into Kyungsoo on his way out of the facility. For a moment, he's tempted to ask if Kyungsoo's visiting someone, but that's not something you ask someone you barely know. Sure, they've had a couple of drinks a few days back and he let Kyungsoo stay the night in his flat, but that's it. There's nothing alluding to a go signal that Minseok can feel free to ask Kyungsoo whatever comes to mind. So he only gives a casual greeting, an, "Oh, hey. This is funny," when Kyungsoo turns to him with wide eyes. Kyungsoo has a file case tucked in his arm, and a carrying case in his free hand. His round-rimmed glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, coming to settle just a few centimeters shy of the tip.

"You're a volunteer here?" Kyungsoo asks. Right, Minseok thinks, that's a better question. "Or?"

"Picked up a few records. Took care of some things," Minseok replies. He buries his hands in his pockets, then adds, "I went to visit my sister at the third floor."

"Oh. The Tundra," Kyungsoo whispers. Minseok nods in affirmation. Kyungsoo seems to know the place well, but something in the furrow of his eyebrows tells Minseok that that might have been a lucky guess or a famous enough place. Lucky is known to be the home of trauma patients, after all – it won't be a surprise if the news capitalized on introducing people to 'The Tundra', made them feel a bit more connected with the place by giving it a fancy name. "Just came from there. I guess I missed you."

"Ah, I left an hour ago. Paperwork just got me stuck here."

"You come here often?"

Minseok chuckles. If, by often, Kyungsoo means every weekend afternoon or whenever Minseok feels courageous enough to pay his sister a visit, then, "Yes. Frequent enough."

Kyungsoo stops in his tracks and gives him a once-over. Minseok leans back a little, taking in the look Kyungsoo is fashioning – gray shirt donned with specks of paint, some streaks of yellow and blue caught on his bangs. Just a dot of red at the center of the left lens of his glasses. Even his pants have streaks of paint on them. Only his blazer has been spared – wise move to take it off during his volunteer session. Kyungsoo looks and feels like an artist so engrossed in his perfecting his craft right now. It almost feels as if he's here, poised to paint the halls with color. Breathe a bit of life into the otherwise drab walls of the institution.

"Stop staring, hyung," Kyungsoo mumbles. He's worrying his bottom lip again, and he's doing something with his hands that only make Minseok catch the traces of paint on his fingers. Minseok laughs a little. "I can't wash my hands yet."

Minseok holds his hands up in defense. "Didn't say anything." He keeps his eyes on Kyungsoo, though, allows the brunt force of a smile hit his lips and pull hard at the corners of his mouth. "Need help with those?

Kyungsoo furrows his eyebrows for a moment, then looks at the things in his hands. "Maybe this," he says, holding out his file case. "Careful with the spine. Uh, you might–"

Minseok frowns at the yellow line along his palm. "Right. Paint. Of course."

"You expected something else?"

_I wasn't expecting you,_ Minseok wants to say. Instead, he answers, "I just expected you to be not as messy."

"Artistic expression comes first," Kyungsoo begins. He takes a step forward and Minseok follows, feet moving on their own accord. "Then comes keeping one's things clean."

Kyungsoo isn't the most talkative of people. Half the time, they walk alongside each other with silence as their companion, and that's it. Sometimes, though, Minseok thinks, he needs that. He needs the silence that's just white noise, a silence so thick not even the voices in his head can seep through the gaps. Kyungsoo seems to be comfortable with it, looking at Minseok from time to time to cock an eyebrow, offer a small smile, or maybe chuckle when Minseok narrowly avoids a small rock. "It got in the way," Minseok says, then, in defense, and only then does he realize that he's just passed the car park and that they need to turn around.

"I apologize in behalf of the rock," Kyungsoo says, a lilt in his tone. He takes a step to his side, closer to Minseok, but takes a step back just as soon. It must be the weather, Minseok muses, because Kyungsoo didn't seem to have an issue with proximity a few nights back, at an intersection in the streets of Gangnam. It was colder than the usual, but then it was fucking two in the morning then. Kyungsoo's gaze hasn't waned yet, though. "You… didn't reply to my text."

"Oh. Right." Minseok fishes for his phone from his pocket, and tries not to grin when he sees three messages from Kyungsoo. _Are you okay with pizza, hyung?_ says the first message; the second, _I mean the place is sort of like a pub but they serve great pizza there. You know Apartmento?_ The third was sent ten minutes ago, a few minutes before they bumped into each other at the exit. _See you in Gangnam,_ it says, no punctuation or anything. It's almost as if Kyungsoo was in a rush then even if he looked as if he was having such a hard time balancing his things in his arms.

"Pizza's great," Minseok replies after a while. He cocks his head to the side, then rushes, "I brought my car. I can take us to Gangnam."

"The black Mazda 6," Kyungsoo says, voice steady and solid like he's so sure of his answer. And maybe he is. Maybe he has some superb eyesight that he'd remembered Minseok's car even in his most inebriated state, in the dark. Maybe that's how artists are – able to take in the smallest, most salient of details even in dim lightning. Able to retain a crisp image of a blurry event in his mind even in a state of drunkenness.

"You drive, too? Or you just like cars?"

Kyungsoo laughs a little. "Both, but I get lazy sometimes. And taking public transport gives me more time to think."

"You can always stay in the car as long as you want." Minseok turns up the engine, then hands Kyungsoo his iPod. "It's cozier."

Kyungsoo stares for a while before taking the iPod and chuckles in response.

Kyungsoo pulls up a Snow Patrol playlist for the rest of the trip. Nearing six in the evening means streets will be littered with cars. Traffic in Seoul isn't completely kind even during weekends, but Kyungsoo's low humming is a good companion throughout the trip. Occasionally, Kyungsoo steals a glance, as if checking if Minseok wants anything, needs something. If he ever notices the way Minseok doesn't stop tapping his feet to the beat, he doesn't bring it up. Instead, Kyungsoo raises the volume just enough for the heavy beats to fill Minseok's ears.

☄

Garosu-gil isn't a place Minseok frequents. Joonmyun is the one who loves coming out here for a drink or for dinner, but even that has changed over time. They go for three bottles of soju in tiny samgyupsal places now, or take home four bottles and drink their asses off at Minseok's place. Joonmyun's easier to wean off the impulsive cleaning when he isn't in his own flat, and this keeps Jongdae from taking more shots than necessary just so he'd have enough courage to tell Joonmyun to _calm the fuck down._ Minseok looks around, taking in the scene – young adults in restaurants, discussing work woes. Some older people talking about the exact same thing. He feels like a stranger in this place, somehow, even if this area is supposed to be 'home'.

The dim lighting in Apartmento lends a bit of comfort, though. The friendly staff, even more.

Kyungsoo orders a spinello while Minseok asks for the brunch pizza. "For variety," Minseok says with a wink, and Kyungsoo quickly averts his gaze. The yellow light casts Kyungsoo a warm glow, softens the sharp edges of his eyes and the hard corners of his mouth. After he orders a bottle of wine for the two of them, he excuses himself to wash his hands, freshen up.

Minseok cranes his neck and looks at the illustration pressed to the cover of the file case. It's an unfinished sketch, still missing an eye and lips. The hard strokes of the hair are already there, though, and there are hatches where the hair supposedly casts a shadow on the ear.

"It's not yet done," Kyungsoo mumbles when he gets back. He's wearing a fresh white polo now, rolled up to his elbows. Minseok wants to say 'you shouldn't have', but who is he to stop Kyungsoo from changing into something that makes him twice as attractive?

The first three buttons of Kyungsoo's polo are undone. Minseok catches a peek of Kyungsoo's collarbones and a small mole near the clavicle. He gulps hard.

"Your sketching style is amazing, though," Minseok replies. He leans closer, craning his neck even more in an attempt to get a better view. For what Kyungsoo calls an incomplete sketch, the drawing looks so polished. No pencil marks and just a few double lines for the curves. Minseok isn't an amazing artist, but he knows what great art is and can see the skill that was behind it when he sees it. This – this tells him Kyungsoo is so sure of what he draws, of what he wants to create. It speaks of the message that Kyungsoo's wandering gaze doesn't – he wants to talk about art because he knows it inside and out. And because he knows more about it than most people.

Reading body language is a component of Minseok's job. He's spent years learning this – he can't be mistaken.

"You prefer hatching over normal shading?" Minseok tries this time, and that's when Kyungsoo's eyes light up. Kyungsoo's drumming his fingers on the table, a quick beat that isn't set to the ambient sound they're hearing. Here Kyungsoo is again, lost in a song in his mind, unwilling to share the melody with Minseok. Maybe he's trying to figure it out, too.

"It's easier. And it's a nice contrast to the usual shading I do in paintings." Kyungsoo's lips quirk up. "And even then, I use different kinds of shading in paintings depending on the feel of the image and the canvas."

"Ever tried hatching in a big canvas?"

Kyungsoo narrows his eyes, then cocks an eyebrow. "Nope. Never. Waste of paint. And it's hard to control the strokes when you don't have a really fine and nice sable brush?"

"It's the artist, not the brush," Minseok teases.

Kyungsoo doesn't back down, even leans closer and props his chin on his clenched fist. "I'd like to see you try finger painting, then."

Kyungsoo doesn't get 'talkative' about art – he gets passionate about it, fiercely protective when his technique is questioned. Wine gets serve ten minutes after, and by then Kyungsoo has already talked more than he has in all five times that Minseok has ever encountered him. Kyungsoo talks about brush strokes, what each fluid movement means, the difference the slightest change in brush angle can make. He talks about proper layering of acrylic paint and how much trickier it is, albeit popular belief that it's an easier type of paint to work with.

"I mean, sure, acrylic is more flexible than oil paint, but it's the same lack of 'finality' in the substance that makes it so tricky." Kyungsoo's lips do that small, tentative twist, like he's trying to find an easier, less technical way to explain things. Minseok hums in appreciation. "You keep adding one layer of paint on top of another and it takes you a while to realize that your paint has already blotted, or that you've lost some of the details. Then you get tempted to add another layer to it to right the wrong but _that_ – that's the one that's wrong. When you paint, you have to have the mindset that you can't screw up. When it's already on paper, it's final."

Minseok takes a deep breath. He's not sure if Kyungsoo's still talking about painting or life. Either way, there's an ounce of truth to it. He keeps nodding.

"So your second chance – your second and _only chance_ – comes in the form of outlining. You might not do it often, but you have to this time. You don't have a choice. And shading, too. Ah–" Kyungsoo takes a sip of wine, and Minseok watches the gentle bob in the Kyungsoo's throat. He licks his lips in silent approval. "The final touches, those make all the difference. That's where you'll see how an artist solves problems, where he gets truly creative."

Minseok sucks in his his bottom lip, then furrows his eyebrows. "But what if your hand shook somewhere along the way? What if–" He swallows some of the pepperoni stuck in his throat, then takes a sip of wine. "What if that happens? What then? I mean, it's not as if it's your fault your hand shook. You might've been tired already but you really, really just wanted to finish the painting the soonest you could. What if willpower gets the better of your hand?"

Kyungsoo's eyes widen, and he leans back into his seat. Then there it is, the slow-blooming smile that tug the corners of Kyungsoo's mouth up. It reaches his cheeks, the corners of his eyes, bares all of his teeth. Minseok takes another sip of his drink and thinks, wow, Kyungsoo looks like a painting come to life.

He thinks, wow, his head's swirling with all the painting talk he'd done. But he's still here, leaning closer, eager to hear more.

"That's why there's a thing called artistic license, hyung. So we can make mistakes look good, choke them up to the artist's painting style." Kyungsoo chuckles. "There's a reason why we paint, and that's because all these ugly things we see everyday? The bad things?" Kyungsoo snorts, and he clasps a hand over his mouth when the sound comes out too strong. "The bad things, we paint over those. Make them look pretty. Remind people that, sometimes, you just have to look at things differently. Then you'll start to see all that's beautiful in life."

There's a thick lump in Minseok's throat that just won't leave. He chugs the rest of his wine down, looking sophisticated be damned. "Is that what you tell people during exhibit openings?"

The corners of Kyungsoo's lips tug up, down, and up again, like he can't decide if he should be smiling or grinning. "You got me there."

A thick blanket of silence settles between them, but it isn't the uncomfortable kind. It sounds like the low thrumming of a car engine, or the airconditioning in Jongdae's office. The sound of Joonmyun's fridge at six in the morning, when Minseok gets out of bed to cook the last homemade meal Joonmyun will be eating in a while before EXO ventures into a packed schedule again. The comfortable silence between Kyungsoo and Minseok that soars above Gary Lightbody singing on the radio – it wraps around Minseok like a quilt, urges him to lean in, come closer, urges him to tell Kyungsoo to go on. So he keeps his lips pressed close, the light upward tug at the corners pulling up at his cheeks even more. He stares, holding Kyungsoo's gaze, steady for the first time since they started talking about art. He taps his foot to a familiar song in his head, one that sounds a lot like the tune Kyungsoo was humming that night in the intersection at two in the morning.

Kyungsoo's lips quiver. Minseok breaks eye contact, following the motion of Kyungsoo's tongue swiping along his bottom lip with his gaze. A traitorous cold creeps up his spine, numbs the tips of his fingers. So he keeps tapping his foot in an effort to bring back the feeling in his hands, his whole body. The feeling in chest that keeps constricting at every upward tug of Kyungsoo's lips.

☄

Eleven in the evening and Kyungsoo's cheeks are already a bright shade of red. Granted, they're on their second bottle of wine, but this _just wine._ Minseok's expecting better, like at any minute Kyungsoo will slip out of his state of inebriation and be able to down a glass of wine again in one unceremonious gulp. But he doesn't. Instead, Kyungsoo draws patterns on the table with his index finger. There are still crumbs at the corners of his lips from when Minseok had forced him to _please take the last roll._ His ears are the same shade of red as his lips are. He keeps worrying and licking and worrying his lips that Minseok wants to slap his hand away and tell Kyungsoo, _will you stop that?_

Minseok gives in and reaches out, but only the pads of his fingers brush against Kyungsoo's chin. There's the opportunity to pull Kyungsoo closer, or for Minseok to lean in, but that's not what you do in business meetings, is it? You don't trace the curve of the face of the person you're meeting up with in the hope that he'd give you a more affordable price for his art. You don't think of using your tongue in other ways to convince him to accept your deal. You don't think of crazy things and wonder why he makes your breathing hitch. You don't think of finishing kissing him. So Minseok doesn't. Instead, he pokes a corner of Kyungsoo's lips with his index finger and brushes the crumbs away.

"Messy eater," he whispers. Kyungsoo makes a tiny hiccuping sound. "The other side, as well."

"Thanks," Kyungsoo mumbles. He rubs his thumbs at the corners of his mouth. "Wasn't like this before."

Kyungsoo's lips are parted just slightly. There's an invitation scrawled on them, more words dangling off the edge. Minseok takes a deep, breath, asking, "Before?" It's simple enough a question, the lilt almost inaudible, that if Kyungsoo feels uncomfortable sharing then he can ignore it. Forget Minseok even posed a question, if it's a question at all. Kyungsoo looks at him with dark eyes and a stare that's only vacant for a few seconds, and then he's back. Minseok can see himself reflected in Kyungsoo's eyes again, clearer than before.

"I didn't drink this much back then. Didn't have the time," Kyungsoo answers. He looks around for _something_ and worries a corner of his mouth when he doesn't find it. Minseok takes a stab at guessing and pushes his glass of water forward. Kyungsoo's lips fall into a tiny 'o' in acknowledgement. "I was either working in the office or working at home. Or in my car, when I'm stuck in traffic." He takes a few gulps of water before continuing. "Might've even been working in my sleep at one point."

Minseok chuckles. That was him during the first two, three years of his employment. He had a love-hate relationship with art, and an even more dysfunctional relationship with design. When you're forced to come up with creative ideas on a daily basis, all that's beautiful turns into images of wilted flowers. The only seed of hope then was his yoga class every 8 p.m., T-Th. Or only on Tuesdays, if they were hoping to win a new business. Agency life's a bitch; pitches, even more so.

"Used to be like that, working 25/7." Minseok takes a sip of his wine. "Even when taking a dump."

Kyungsoo snorts. "Ah, that one's sacred to me. The world stops when I take a dump."

"Lucky you. I usually have to file a 'shit leave' whenever I do that."

Kyungsoo shrugs. "Important people don't file shit leaves. They just take it."

Minseok squints, leaning closer, then licks his bottom lip before sucking it in. "Ah. Let me guess – client side?"

Kyungsoo cocks an eyebrow but doesn't back down, doesn't shiver. His index finger and thumb are steady on the stem of the wine glass. Some of the condensation catches on the tip of Kyungsoo's nails and he flicks it off quickly. Like this how he's telling Minseok, _it isn't so bad. It can't be that obvious._ "How did you know?"

Easy – the gentle cock of the eyebrow, the slow quirk of the mouth, like Kyungsoo's so sure of himself, of everything, of the choices he's been making and has made in his life. It's there, the sense of authority and the way he commands attention, in the way Kyungsoo strings his words together, in the way he delivers them, so well-enunciated like he knows each syllable bears weight. And it probably does. He speaks as if he knows exactly how to make the world stop turning while he's shitting, and how to put it back into orbit once he's done. "It's obvious," Minseok says, instead, in an effort to summarize everything. "You sound like one."

"You make it sound so bad, hyung," Kyungsoo says, laughing a little. This tone makes him sound years younger, a brand manager in training. Still sure of himself, but with a hint of apprehension. The soft roll of the _hyung_ off his tongue sends a shiver down Minseok's spine. "Clients aren't always bad."

"Most of the ones I've encountered are."

"Then you have an awful client roster," Kyungsoo states. He slips his tongue between his lips, just peeking from the small opening. "I'm pretty considerate."

" _Pretty considerate,_ " Minseok echoes. "Sounds scary. Ominous."

"You're fired. I'm dropping you as my partner agency!"

The lilt in Kyungsoo's voice is funny. It's almost as if he's transformed into someone different after a bottle and a half of wine.

The transaction is put on hold, but then so is their sanity. Kyungsoo still makes sense even after they've already finished their second bottle of wine, but he trips over tiny humps on the street as they make their way to the main road. Minseok moves closer, prepared to cushion Kyungsoo's fall if he ever misses a step, but he's much too drunk as well. His vision is a bit hazy, but that can just be the midnight air. And the lack of his glasses to make the entire picture look clearer. He relies on muscle memory, then. If it fails him, then he'll laugh. And if Kyungsoo laughs at him – bold, bright, uninhibited, thick with alcohol and drunkenness – he'll pull Kyungsoo down with him so they can laugh at each other.

☄

"I'm alive," Minseok croaks into the receiver. He clears his throat, then repeats, "Yeah, I'm still alive. In one piece. Just… really tired."

His Sunday duty at the gym usually starts at ten in the morning – just the usual ocular inspection, making sure people don't jam their feet into the machines because it happens to Sehun half the time. Donghae and Eunhyuk take over Zumba and Junsu covers for Minseok for yoga on weekends, but only on those days. He's just woken up, though, and it's already ten minutes past the hour. So it's normal for Jongdae to give him a ring and check if he's still breathing, at the very least. How he got into bed last night is a blur. How he got home, however, he remembers perfectly – it was Kyungsoo's who'd helped him look for his keys, Kyungsoo who helped him get on his feet when he bumped into the door shortly after opening it. Kyungsoo assisted him all the way to the couch, rummaged through his fridge for enough ice to fill a bag. He sort of slipped and twisted his ankle during the walk to his flat. Fuck wine – muscle memory is no match for it.

"I can move my feet and– _Who told you–_ " Minseok pushes himself off the bed now and flexes his fingers, bends his torso to reach for his toes. There's still a dull ache in his ankle, but the pain's more manageable now. He tries standing on his feet, then, exhales loudly when he doesn't feel a sting shoot up his calves when he transfers weight from one foo to another. "You're my– Oh, right, you're my on my speed dial."

"I'm actually very touched, hyung," Jongdae mumbles. He sounds more mad than honored, though. "You want me to pick you up or something? Get you to a doctor?"

"Hey, I'm an adult now. You don't have to take care of me anymore. This isn't like–"

"Hyung, you twisted your ankle. Cut the crap. Now, do you want to have that checked by a doctor?"

Minseok heaves a sigh. Years ago, it wouldn't have been a question. Minseok would have insisted to see a doctor at once, maybe even right after he'd twisted his ankle or pulled a muscle. _You have to take care of your legs, your feet,_ he remembers his instructor saying. _Those are your investment. Those parts of you are the ones you have to take care of the most._

"Just in case," he whispers in reply. He looks around and shuts his eyes tight when sunlight catches on his eyelashes. "Is it okay if you drive me to the doctor?"

Jongdae chuckles. "As long as you pay for my gas. And food. And coffee."

Minseok laughs in reply. "And milk tea for Sehun, because we probably won't be back until the afternoon."

Jongdae groans in acknowledgement and excuses himself to run Sehun through today's to-do list. Minseok promises to be ready in an hour or less, fresh again, without the stink of last night's alcohol to haunt him for the rest of the day.

But a hangover doesn't leave you at once. It follows you everywhere you go, latches onto your memories, the tips of your fingers, the roots of your hair. Water pours down on him, hot but not enough to sting, but even that cannot ease the ache that alcohol has left in his head. His veins throb with every sharp intake of breath. He remembers college, the time when he'd tried to get back into dancing but couldn't. Every twist and turn made his head ache. Every pop of his chest or his shoulders sent a weird, numbing pain to his knees. Every quick beat made his heart race in his chest and he couldn't run. His feet were stuck to the ground, still stuck in the time when he lost his parents and almost lost his sister to a car crash. To them wanting to see him perform on stage in the biggest even of the school. To his dreams.

He turns off the tap and tries to recall the sound of white noise. What blares in his ears is the sound of Kyungsoo's steady humming, instead.

Jongdae arrives at his place thirty minutes after, primed for a lazy Sunday in a baggy shirt and shorts. "Hey, at least they're not the floral ones this time," Jongdae says in defense, and Minseok holds his hands up in his response. His throat still feels dry from all the alcohol he'd taken last night. They didn't even talk much the whole time they were together. At one point, Kyungsoo was just staring at him as if expecting him to _get it,_ whatever it was that he was trying to say. And Minseok did the same.

Once they're settled in the car, Jongdae turns on the engine but not the radio. He gives Minseok a long look, then gestures at Minseok's leg. "I'm all ears, hyung. Even in you don't want to talk."

Feeling his throat again, he laughs a little. "What gives? You know I'm not good at the talking thing."

"I'm supposed to play the part of the nosy best friend, hyung," Jongdae replies. He nudges Minseok in his side before stepping on the gas. "C'mon, spill."

Minseok takes a deep breath, then fishes for his phone. Two unread messages, one from Jongdae and the other from Kyungsoo. A message sent at six in the morning that says, _I promise to give you a price for the painting soon, hyung. Just figuring things out. Please ice your ankle. Take care._

"I'll pretend I know what the text says and connect that to what happened _last night._ " Jongdae drawls the last few syllables, then chuckles when Minseok makes a face at him. "The sooner you tell me about it, the sooner I'll shut up!"

"You _won't_ shut up," Minseok argues. Thank God for green lights, because otherwise Jongdae would probably be miming. Thank God for the slightly sprained ankle, too, because if he isn't injured then he'd be the one taking the wheel and Jongdae would have every opportunity to weed out information from him. Not that there's anything to tell, really – he just had pizza and maybe too much wine with a friend last night. The intent was to sign off a contract of sorts, finalize a transaction, but Minseok should've known better than to believe that would happen after their first bottle of wine. At least they'd gotten some details nailed down, ironed out. Minseok still feels strongly about the painting the same way he does about talking to Kyungsoo, engaging him in conversation. Kyungsoo is an artwork in himself – the initial sketch of which has been covered by layers upon layers of paint. He's interested in peeling off every color, every light wash of yellow, red, and blue. Run a thumb along the surface of the painting to get a better feel of it.

"Okay. You're clearly not going to start talking anytime soon. I'll start giving you _guide questions._ " Jongdae slows down as the light turns yellow, then eventually red. He steps on the breaks. "Who was the guy who called me last night?"

 

"A friend," Minseok replies. He keeps his eyes glued on the side mirror, checking for motors that might slip through the narrow passageway between cars. Some motorists do that, sometimes, take risks just to get dibs on getting a move on from the red light. "Someone I met through Kibum."

"Kibum?" Jongdae cocks an eyebrow. "You have a friend named Kibum? You actually go out and _make friends?_ " Jongdae gasps, but it's mostly for show. The hint of a smile at the corners of his lips gives him away.

Minseok takes a deep breath and gives Jongdae a tight-lipped smile. "Joonmyun knows him."

Jongdae shrugs. "Well, that makes more sense."

Jongdae's usually more focused than this, but driving takes most of his attention and leaves the last few ounces of his focus. Minseok capitalizes on it, dives head-first into the opportunity and grabs it. "The exhibit was great. Joonmyun really enjoyed it," he mentions. Jongdae nods, then, humming, and Minseok takes this as a sign to continue. "Or at least he looked like he was having fun. Actually–" Minseok laughs a little, suddenly remembering Joonmyun's other agenda for paying Kibum a visit in the exhibit. "He was looking for someone to work on EXO's album cover, a fresh talent–"

Jongdae turns to look at him, eyes narrowed and lips tugged down in a frown. This is best record so far – the last time Minseok pulled the same stunt, it took Jongdae five whole minutes to realize he'd been effectively steered away from the main topic. Jongdae slaps Minseok on the arm, then the hand when Minseok uses to fiddle with the controls of the radio.

Jongdae moves like he's in his own car, like he knows exactly what Minseok is thinking about. He certainly does, now. "Hyung. Focus."

 

That's the thing – he's been focusing on one thing and one thing, alone, his entire life, and that's reaching the end of the line. Working his ass of to pay for his daily expenses and so he could give into his whims. The one time he decides to step outside the track, he looks to his side and at the person at the table beside theirs. And he hasn't looked back ever since.

Minseok averts his gaze, then, and finally meets Jongdae in the eye. They still have a good sixty seconds to waste. There's no escape. "He's a painter," he begins, then, recalling the way Kyungsoo tested him, asked him what he thought about one of his paintings that was showcased in the exhibit. "He's an artist. I… first saw him in the art show Joonmyun and I went to a few weeks ago. The one you were supposed to go to, as well." Minseok remembers to pause at the end, to offer Jongdae a small smile. "The one you'd bailed out from because you were 'busy with paperwork'."

"He brought that bullshit, though," Jongdae replies. Twenty seconds 'til the light turns green again. "Looks like you enjoyed it. I mean, you were alone with Joonmyun-hyung–"

"It was a very weird show. Not the date-kind of art show people go to."

"Ah. And he finally states his intentions." Jongdae pulls the lever up and steps on the gas. "After, what, a lifetime? Better late than never."

Jongdae isn't looking at him, but he's sure Jongdae can see the light cock of his eyebrow. After a deep breath, he says, "Yeah. Whatever. That show."

He chooses the information he tells Jongdae about – Kyungsoo being _the savior with the cute ass,_ running into Kyungsoo on his way home that same day. Kyungsoo coming to the exhibit all dressed up, suit and all, but still looking so small. And the red bowtie, of course, because Jongdae's particular with tiny details like those. He doesn't tell Jongdae, though, that Kyungsoo took out the pineapple in the pizza they were served, or that he sprinkled some chili flakes on the Nutella pizza they ate last night. Doesn't tell Jongdae that Kyungsoo eats pizza like a five-year-old and that the crumbs always, always, _always_ catch on the corners of his lips. Doesn't tell Jongdae that Kyungsoo isn't so averse to the idea of short distances between people when he's drunk, or that Kyungsoo's hands are so small that Minseok can envelop Kyungsoo's fist in his hand.

He doesn't tell Jongdae about the lurching in his stomach at the moment, the way his insides turn with every little recollection of the minutes he's spent with Kyungsoo, either.

"Is he the artist behind the painting of the brooding girl? The picture you sent via KKT?" Jongdae asks now, as he helps Minseok up the last flight of stairs on their way to the main lobby of the hospital. "Long hair with bangs that cover the eyes?"

"It's a painting of _regret,_ Jongdae," Minseok reiterates for the third time. "Calling her a 'brooding girl' sort of demeans the character."

"Because the painting is an extension of the artist. Right." Jongdae beams at the receptionist, then snakes an arm around Minseok's shoulder. "What? I don't want you to get lost. I bet it's your first time here."

Hardly his first, he wants to say. The first few months following the accident, he felt a stinging pain in his ankles and knees all the time. He was here almost every weekend, and even after not being here for years, he still knows the places, the offices, the rooms like the back of his hand. Radiology department is at the second floor, because that's where most office workers go to for their annual check up. His physical therapist's office is on the fifth floor. The PT room, however, is at the ground floor, just beside the cafeteria. Only once did he ask Jongdae to pick him up there instead of just heading home straight from the check up. That one time was exactly six months after the accident. He could feel the pain clawing at his insides then.

"The health card person's usually at the ground level," he says, nonetheless, playing along. If he argues, Jongdae will only dig up things. And Jongdae's good at weeding out information from people if and when needed.

"I knew that."

"Of course," Minseok sing songs. He bumps his hips into Jongdae's side. "You know everything."

They're third in line for the physical therapist. Minseok would have requested for his old PT, but he's gone now, moved to a new district, servicing different people. It's not as if he expected Dr. Shim to still be here. It _has_ been years, after all. People move on as quickly as a hitch of the breath after; it just takes longer for some people, Minseok included. Sometimes, it takes forever. So he waits for the first patient to be called, and then for the next, and when it's time to enter the doctor's office he takes a deep breath.

People move on, he tells himself a second time, to the rhythm of his forward-facing footsteps. Jongdae's grip on his wrist is loose enough that he can shuck off Jongdae's hand anytime, but he doesn't. He lets Jongdae hold onto him and lead him to the right path. There are some things worth holding on to, after all, and this – Jongdae's comforting, assuring presence, he's not willing to let go of this just yet. Ever.

☄

Minseok sends Sunyoung a text, saying he won't be able to come over today. It's too risky – Yeouido isn't too far from Gangnam, but he's not quite sure how easy it will be to take public transport with a sprained ankle and a dull ache in his knees. "Lesson learned: don't drink too much now that you're past thirty," Jongdae teases as if he isn't past that age, himself. His grip on Minseok's arm is firm and steady, though, like if he loosens it at any minute Minseok will lose balance and fall. He won't, Minseok wants to tell Jongdae. He's dealt with worse. But that isn't bullshit Jongdae will buy. "Old people like you aren't supposed to be waltzing in the streets at three in the morning."

"Two," Minseok corrects. He was out with Kibum, Joonmyun, and Kyungsoo until two in the morning the day of the exhibit. He got home around the same time the day he went out with Kyungsoo for pizza and the painting. Two in the morning is safe; three in the morning is crazy. "And don't use that word, jeez." He heaves a sigh. "Jongdae, you know–"

Jongdae takes a step closer to the door and the glass slides to the side. "You're not still allergic to dance, are you?"

"I'm not _allergic_ to it. You know the concept of 'trauma'?"

"Hyung, I didn't mean _waltzing_ waltzing. I meant you frolicking the streets at a late hour."

Minseok offers a small smile, but it feels nothing like one. The stretch at the corners stings more than the ache in his knees. "Now that's a better word," he mumbles. "And old people are supposed to be respected, not be bullied around."

Jongdae gives him a long look before walking to the other side of the counter. Minseok had wiggled out of Jongdae's grasp just a few minutes ago. He needs to practice taking big strides on his own; he can't drag Jongdae to his house and keep him for a day, after all.

"You're impossible," Jongdae whispers. He scribbles something on a piece of paper, then hands it to Minseok. " _This_ will be your press release to Joonmyun-hyung. You won't tell him we went to the doctor, okay? You're okay. You can kick my sorry ass in yoga–"

Minseok reaches over, ruffling Jongdae's hair, but he's careful not to put strain on his ankle. His knees are just complaining – that isn't real pain. That's the cry of the weak, and that he isn't. So he says, because he can and this is the sign Jongdae is looking for, "I can kick your cute ass in yoga any day." There's a flicker of _something_ in Jongdae's eyes, a light switch that was once broken. He catches the compliment smack in the middle of the sentence and latches onto it, capitalizes on it like it's the most important part of the sentence. And maybe it is. If Minseok feels well enough to crack a silly joke like that then he can convince Jongdae that he'll be fine on his own. If he can tease Jongdae like that, then he'll be able to make Jongdae feel that he can do anything. That he's Kim Minseok again, not Kim-Minseok-who-injured-himself-while-he-walked-home-ass-drunk-at-ass-o-clock-in-the-morning. 

Jongdae leaves the counter and starts making his way to the machines area. Halfway through, he stops, wiggles his ass even if there are at least seven people in the pantry, chugging down water after their workout.

Minseok laughs. He remembers to say, "And thanks for taking me to the play place, mom!" The wide grin on Jongdae's lips softens. There's a conscious effort to think of those days when Jongdae was the one taking care of him and not the other way around. The memories are tucked there, somewhere at the back of his mind, but Minseok won't dig them up on an ordinary day just so he could have a good laugh. It doesn't even make him smile. The only good thing about those days was the fact that Jongdae was there to salvage whatever was left of his sanity. And then he met Joonmyun, and Joonmyun turned out to be pretty good at fixing broken people. First year of college and Minseok was already feeling brand new. He'd covered the scar at the back of his mind with band aids. He checks on the cluster from time to time just to make sure the bands don't come off.

"Anytime, kid," Jongdae says loud enough for Minseok to hear. He holds the gaze a little longer, then turns on his heel. Jongdae wiggles his ass one last time before disappearing into a corner.

Minseok fishes for his phone, then, and goes through his unread messages – two from Sunyoung, one from Kibum, and one from Kyungsoo. The first says, _oppa, they'll be having an art exhibit week after next, thursday. you're coming, right? c:_ ; the second, _please please please come? she's receiving an award and i want you to be there to give it to her :D_ It seems more daunting than exciting, but Minseok reminds himself, _it's your duty. You have to do this. You're his oppa, right?_ It's not the concept of going up the stage that repels him; it's the thought of Minyoung seeing him, meeting him eye-to-eye, and the possibility of Minyoung not recognizing him that does.

_heard from sunyoung there's a special exhibit in yeouido 2 wks from now. u wanna com? seems interesting,_ says Kibum's message.

_We have an exhibit in Yeouido two weeks from now. Thursday week after next. If you're interested, we'd be happy to have you there,_ says Kyungsoo text.

Minseok's half-tempted to tell Sunyoung that their art teacher should take over her promoting duties, but Sunyoung knows him in a way Kyungsoo doesn't. She knows that he'll never be able to say no to any request involving Minyoung but, at the same time, think of bailing out at the very last minute. He'll always push through, though, turn up at The Tundra just in time for Minyoung to receive an award. He'll never walk to the stage, though, or at least move closer to it so he could take pictures of his sister receiving an award, beaming at the crowd applauding her. She's won at least three already – the first is for their handicraft classes, and the second is for their music class. The third one, Minseok should've seen coming – she made a pretty crazy Photoshop composition using three different pictures. She's always been good with digital art. She's passionate about it.

If things had gone differently that night, maybe she'd be in KBS now, directing shows from the floor. She'd be calling out, "Camera 2!", the way she does when they were still playing as kids. She'd probably be bugging Minseok to be the star of her new video – a music video. She'd be forcing Minseok to do the choreography because _oppa's dancing is the best!_

His phone sounds off, and in comes another message from Kibum – _oh hey turns out the exhibit thing is kyungsoo's thing and i have to go. COME WITH ME HYUNG PLS KYUNGSOO'S GONNA BORE ME OUT OF MY WITS PLSSS_

_Ask nicely :)_ is his curt reply. After receiving a plethora of stickers from Kibum, he finally says yes, then navigates to Kyungsoo's message. _It better be good,_ he types.

_Best art show you'll ever see. Winkeu,_ Kyungsoo replies. Minseok has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from cackling.

Later that night, after cleaning up the takeout dinner he'd gotten with Jongdae, he leans back against his couch and sees a handkerchief tucked between two pillows. It's a simple white piece of cloth donned with… smudges of paint. Finger prints that are so tiny they could've been that of a kid's. A weird sort of art form that doesn't look like a mess, at all. It reminds him of a blurry photo of a ballerina – the creases of her skirt at the thin and sharp lines along the smudges and washes of paint. The smudge on the big thumbmark, that's her bun. The tiny protrusion is her nose. Her lips are there, somewhere. Maybe he only has to squint some more for a clearer picture. He holds it up against the light, cocks his head in an attempt to get a clearer picture but he doesn't. This is an unfinished image – the ballerina's missing one leg and one arm and _her lips,_ they've got to be there somewhere. The tiny smudge at the edge is probably one half of the ballet shoes that she's lost. There are short lines akin to hatches at a corner and these marks, he doesn't know how to interpret anymore.

He snaps a photo of it and attaches a message, saying, _Could you help me with this one? Not sure if the artist and I share the same interpretation…_ He hits the send button and places his phone face down on the table nearby. A short beep, and then the display lights up. With a sharp intake of breath, he leans in and reaches out for his phone, turns it around, grins.

_Oh, that's pretty interesting. It looks like a dancer_   
_** a dancer but she's missing a leg?_   
_Holy shit that's my handkerchief_   
_Hyung, don't. Don't say a word. That's an unfinished piece. DON'T SAY ANYTHING._

There are a number of ways that he can reply – he can tease Kyungsoo, laugh at him for not being able to recognize his own work. He can tell Kyungsoo that it sucks and that he could have it; Minseok won't even put up a fight. He can choose not to reply and wait for Kyungsoo to _take action,_ but this girl is missing a leg. There isn't anything she can do. So Minseok drums his fingers on his phone for a while before typing up a reply – _I'm interested to know more about this painting ;)_

_7 p.m. at Gangnam tomorrow, hyung._   
_It's a date._

☄

Monday morning requires Minseok to be more upbeat than the usual, even before his first cup of coffee. When you work in a gym that opens at five in the morning and starts to get flocked by people an hour after, being in the right mood is a must. He shifts in bed, stretches his arms over his head and narrowly misses the headboard. The sting jolts him to a less lethargic state, but the pull of gravity on his eyelids is much too strong. He stayed up until two in the morning, exchanging messages with Kyungsoo on KKT about wash techniques and the proper use of acrylic paint versus oil paint.

 _Go to bed, hyung. You can barely spell anymore. Rest well,_ was Kyungsoo's last message before Minseok gave in to the call of slumber. No stickers and smileys, because that isn't how Kyungsoo sends messages. He'd probably use the actual word for a smile when he means to send a smiley, or the word for a frown when he means to send a crying emoticon or simply a sad one. Minseok shakes his head the same way he'd fought the urge to send Kyungsoo a sticker last night. His reflex with good night messages has always been to answer with a sticker – that's how he convinces Jongdae and Joonmyun to go to bed.

But this is Do Kyungsoo, and Do Kyungsoo isn't anything like Jongdae and Joonmyun. It's both a blessing and a curse.

His phone sounds off, signaling his 4:15 alarm, and he dives back into his bed to turn it off. When he swipes the alarm to the left, what greets him is a new message from Kyungsoo, sent at three in the morning.

_Tried to complete the painting but ugh. It's hard._   
_Sorry, you must be asleep... See you tonight, hyung._

He takes a deep breath and tosses his phone back to his bed. There's no time to waste. He can worry about how to reply to this later.

The gym already smells of coffee and toast when he arrives. Sehun isn't usually chipper at an early hour, but Monday makes him more receptive to early morning greetings and a pat on the shoulder. "'Morning, hyung," Sehun mumbles, then wraps his arms around Minseok, burying his face in Minseok's neck. "Toast's in the staff pantry. Made sure not to fall asleep while making 'em."

"Yeah, and you're falling asleep now." He chuckles when Sehun only hums in response. The weight on his shoulder begins to bear down on him, and that's when he turns around to shake Sehun back to a state of consciousness. "Hey, hey, I think you need coffee–"

"Sorry, the milk took longer than the usual to–" Jongdae stops in his tracks, a glass of milk held up high. "He fell asleep?"

"Almost," Minseok says. He gives Sehun's ass a light tap and doesn't drop his hand to his side until Sehun stands up straight. "Go, drink your milk. I'm gonna make eggs for us."

"Done and done," Jongdae declares, beaming. "Hard-boiled, right?"

Minseok narrows his eyes, then looks at Jongdae, then Sehun, then Jongdae again. "Okay, what's up?"

Sehun takes a sip of his milk and blows at it before looking up to meet Minseok in the eye. "My back injury from two years ago sorta... uh..." He scratches the back of his neck, and a small, apologetic smile begins to surface on his lips. "Well I... I went to the doctor the other day and he said I'll have to cut down on the Zumba sessions."

"O...kay?" Minseok turns to look at Jongdae, but Jongdae has this weird, unreadable sort of expression right now that almost makes him look like a stranger. Lips turned down to a frown, gaze fixed on an inanimate object and not on the eyes of the person he's talking to – this is Jongdae back when he was still a kid who was still looking for a hobby and the right hairstyle for him. "I haven't had coffee yet. You'll have to tell me straight."

"I have to take a leave for a few days, hyung. Or maybe weeks. I need to do therapy for this," Sehun answers. He worries his bottom lip, takes a sip of his milk like it can calm him down. He gets back to biting his lips as soon as licks the remaining milk off of his lips. "And we need someone to cover for me."

Minseok scoffs. "I'm not taking over your Zumba classes, Sehun. We've already talked about this before." He takes a deep breath, then turns to face Jongdae. " _We've_ talked about this before. We have a lot of part-timers, right? They're great. I've seen them dance and they're really good. The members here like them."

"Hyung."

"I'm not dancing Zumba for you, Sehun, and neither am I doing it for you." He takes a few steps forward, inching closer to Jongdae. The corners of Jongdae's lips are tight, dry. His eyes are sharp and focused, but they aren't guarded. This, at least, Minseok knows. This one, he knows how to work around. So he lays a palm flat on Jongdae's arm, runs it down the length and grips Jongdae by the wrist. "Dae, I'm sorry. I can... help you look for a reliever."

Jongdae takes a deep breath and shrugs. "It's not yet final. I just thought..." He laughs a bit, but it comes out in dry, little puffs. "I trust you know some dancers who could–"

"Kibum dances. Used to, when he hadn't focused on painting yet. He used to do theatre and some dancing on the side." He slides his hand further down, then rubs his thumb on the back of Jongdae's hand. "I'll call him later, after lunch. He rarely gets up early."

Jongdae offers a little smile. "He'll have to fix that if he wants to dance here."

"I can try to blackmail him," Minseok kids.

Sehun walks over, clasping a hand on their shoulders. "Fifteen minutes 'til they start coming in. We better eat now."

"Of course," Jongdae whispers. He snakes an arm around Minseok's shoulder and pulls Minseok close, then reaches up to give Minseok's hair a quick ruffle. It's a gesture reminiscent of when Jongdae was still taking care of him and really, Jongdae should know better than to bring up the past, but Minseok doesn't put up a fight this time. He's already been awake for more than an hour and he hasn't had his coffee yet. He's not awake enough for this. "Two eggs for maknae!"

Sehun groans in response, but throws an arm around Minseok as well and leans his head against Minseok's own.

He slips into the hot room fifteen minutes after, just enough time for him to get used to the temperature. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries to clear his mind. Unclog the vessels where some of his past has accumulated and flush them out in the shortest possible time. When he feels his body lighten, he stands from where he is, stretches his arms above his head. With his toes pointed out, he takes careful steps forward – one, two, a light hop before he does a pirouette. There's a faint song playing in his ears, in his mind, a distant memory of someone humming, and he smiles when he recognizes the tone and the gravel of the voice.

He keeps spinning, head swaying to the tune in his head. His body recognizes it, too.

☄

"I think that, sometimes, you forget the hot room has two huge glass panels," Jongdae mentions after Minseok's second yoga class. He locks his arms behind his back, stretching. "I saw what you did. But don't worry, hyung – I didn't check you out."

Minseok looks to his side, then grabs the bottle of water Jongdae has pressed to his cheek. The sting doesn't hurt so much, but it jolts him back to his senses, pokes a small hole in his happy yoga bubble that eventually leads to his deflation. His shoulders haven't tensed yet – he owes this to years of yoga practice – but he can feel all the sensation at the tips of his fingers dissipate, drip from his fingers. Jongdae's looking at him with sharp eyes and a knowing smile that makes him want to claw at Jongdae's face. That look is a sin. Jongdae knowing how to read him and exactly how to slam realities like this in his face is a sin.

"I know I have a nice ass," Minseok quietly says, then uncaps the bottle in his hand. "Which reminds me, I promised to call Kibum for you–"

"Hyung, come on, do this for me." Jongdae moves closer. He leans his head on Minseok's shoulder, then says, "Just one class, please? One Zumba class?"

Minseok leans back, meeting Jongdae in the eye. The answer is there, at the tip of his tongue, waiting for an enunciation, but it weasels its way back to his throat, lodges itself there like a blockage he can't get rid of.

"Jongdae," he begins, then takes a deep breath. He wants to say, _hey, do you mind putting space between us? I'm sweaty and you know I can't say no to you_ and _this is unfair,_ but isn't he being unfair, too? He'd promised years ago, when Jongdae had just opened up the gym, that he'd help in any way he can, offer his services, cover for Sehun if he had to. And he had to, now. So it's only fair for him to keep his promise and say 'yes', right? Isn't it only fair for him to give in and finally cast his apprehensions aside, push back the concept of fear to the very back of his mind until he forgets?

But–

The car crash. Losing his parents in a blink of an eye, losing his sister's soul and tormenting her with having to live without recognition of her past. Losing them just because he was selfish and wanted to pursue a dream that seemed, at that time, to present itself to him on a silver platter. When life hands you temptation in the form of dance, you don't just take its hand and twirl it around. You walk around it first, asses your partner, and then take its hand once you're sure of what you want. But Minseok didn't know that before. He was too young then, too foolish. Too naive to realize that the good things in life aren't those that are just presented at your feet.

"I don't know," he finally says, huffing. Jongdae lets out a light laugh, but the sound gets choked and Jongdae ends up coughing. "I'm not sure if I can do it. It's–"

"It's high-time you tried to dance again, hyung, because it's been _years_ since the accident happened." Jongdae sits up straight, but he doesn't move away, the press of their arms against each other hot and sticky. "And you've got to forgive yourself soon, y'know? You can't keep blaming yourself for this."

"You don't know how it feels, Jongdae."

Jongdae snorts. "Sure, I do. I lost Jongdeok-hyung to a plane crash. That hurt. That _fucking stung,_ hyung." Jongdae takes a deep breath, eyebrows furrowed, but the corners of his mouth lift into a small, wistful smile. "But you know what? I thought, ah, Jongdeok-hyung wouldn't want me to waste my life thinking that I was the reason behind his death. That if he didn't get on that plane just to make it to my graduation, he wouldn't have died. I'm sure your mom and dad don't want you to feel bad, either. So please–" He rests a hand on Minseok's own, and Minseok shivers at the touch, at the contact of Jongdae's cold fingers with the back of his hand. "Please, hyung, do yourself a far. Here's an opportunity and it's presenting itself to you. At least try to grab it. Don't shy away from it. It's enough that I lost one hyung to physical death. Watching you do this to yourself – it's like watching you kill yourself, hyung, and trust me, it doesn't look nice."

Minseok scoffs and looks at their now intertwined hands, how Jongdae's small hand looks much bigger beside his. It's the same hand that held his without preamble the night Minseok found out about the crash, the same hand that held his as Minseok tried to go to sleep. It's the hand that constantly tugs at his wrist, pulls him forward, urges him to get a move on even if he's done nothing but hold Jongdae back.

"That's a very morbid image," Minseok whispers after a while. The room feels too cold even after a workout. Jongdae's fingers are thawing out, the old, familiar warmth creeping back to his hand. "Sorry about what I said."

Jongdae reaches out, giving Minseok's cheek a light punch. Minseok winces, but it's mostly for show. Jongdae knows that and capitalizes on it, goes on to pinch the tip of Minseok's nose.

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to yourself." He nudges Minseok in his side, then adds, "You've been missing a lot since you started living in that cave of yours. Don't you think it's time you got out of it once and for all?"

Minseok leans back, considering, and chuckles. "But it's warm and cozy there."

Jongdae growls. "Warm and cozy won't make the cut, hyung. I'm gonna drag your sorry ass out if you stay there much longer."

Minseok looks around for an audience. Sehun has taken it upon himself to assist people using the machines to make up for the Zumba classes he won't be holding in the upcoming days. There's nothing but the low, almost inaudible thrumming of the water dispenser breaking the silence. They're alone, and maybe Minseok can risk just a few minutes of surrender and lean into Jongdae's touch, submit to the need for warmth.

"Carry me," he singsongs. He moves closer, resting his head against Jongdae's own, then says, "Jongdae-yah, come on, carry hyung–"

"Hyung, I thought I wouldn't have to drag your sorry ass out _right now_ but–" Minseok slips his arm around Jongdae's own, hooking their arms together, then nuzzles Jongdae's shoulder. Jongdae makes a small squirm, shrill enough to make Minseok wince, but he doesn't let go. He stays there even if Jongdae threatens to wave his arm around, make Minseok dizzy with the sudden movement. He stays and gives in to the pressing need for someone to lean on.

The sound of footsteps draws closer to the door and Jongdae hums. "Get up, hyung. If Sehun sees this, he'll demand cuddling time from you," Jongdae says, a peculiar lilt in his voice. Minseok holds onto that, too, grabs that funny note and clutches it close to chest for the rainy days to come.

☄

Minseok isn't the most skilled person when it comes to carrying out social obligations. The most socialization he's done is keeping in touch through KKT – which he wouldn't have gotten if Baekhyun hadn't _snatched_ his phone from his hands and downloaded the application on it – and even that he still hasn't fully gotten used to. Replying to Jongdae and Sehun's pleas for help is almost a habit now; keeping in touch with Joonmyun and sending stickers, that's something he's still working on. He gets a bit too chatty sometimes, when he hasn't talked to Joonmyun in a while, but those are just bursts of activity. Joonmyun is almost always the one who initiates, asking, _How's everyone there? Is Sehun eating properly? Yixing says he misses the kid. Has Jongdae been getting any rest? Has he finally gotten the balls to ask Li Yin-noona out?_

 _No :(_ Minseok types all too quickly, before Jongdae can register the message he's reading.

He feels a familiar weight on his shoulder, and then a sharp pain when Jongdae presses down on him with his chin a bit too hard. "Hey, I _tried_ , okay?" Jongdae argues, and Minseok shrugs but is careful not to shake Jongdae up so much. He types a follow up, then, tells Joonmyun, _He says he tried but she just doesn't like him,_ then goes through his stickers to send one with the character holding up an L sign to his forehead. Jongdae jabs him in his side and sits up straight again only to deal more damage – a light punch on the arm, his torso, his lap. He soaks them up, everything Jongdae has to offer. Joonmyun's priceless reply, a stream of _hahaha's_ , is worth all the pain.

Time ticks by too fast and, the next thing Minseok knows, he's punching out of the gym and waving over his back. "Remember to eat," he tells the two. To Sehun in particular, "You have an excuse to not clean up. Go home early, kid." Sehun offers a toothy grin in reply, then walks to the other side of the counter to shuffle some papers into an envelope. For all of Sehun's lack of focus in the morning or laziness when Jongdae asks him to clean the front desk, he still knows how to help out and when to go the extra mile. He'd gone to Starbucks earlier to fetch Minseok his staple coffee order, after all. Granted, he wanted to get his weird Starbucks drink, as well, but Minseok zeroes in on the mere thought and the effort – those have always been Sehun's charm point.

_On my way to Garosu-gil,_ he texts Kyungsoo. _See you :)_

Every visit to this lane brings him back to five, six years ago when Joonmyun still had time to go out for a couple of drinks or even for dinner. That was two years before EXO's debut, but even then Joonmyun had been swamped with work. More like he _chose_ to bury himself in work and not go home on particular days – Chuseok, Christmas, New Year's. His parents' wedding anniversary, the day his brother left to be freed from their parents' clutches and moved to Europe for good. They spent all those days here, and the first round of drinks would always be on Joonmyun. Minseok and Jongdae took turns paying for the second and third round, if any. The two were lightweights; 50% of the time, Minseok ended up taking his sweet time finishing the soju Joonmyun and Jongdae weren't able to drink because they were going to pay for it, anyway.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he steps to the side to check his message. _Cork for Turtle okay with you, hyung?_ He looks up, then, grinning when he meets Kyungsoo's gaze across the road.

He bites the inside of his cheek and replies, anyway, saying, _Sounds good :)_

The last time Minseok had a meal in Cork for Turtle was on the second year anniversary of Jongdae's gym. They were ass drunk then after having two rounds of shots at Hello Bar, and Jongdae was craving something sweet. So they thought, hey, this is convenient, and entered the place. Joonmyun bought an entire box of cupcakes because they looked cute. Jongdae went on to buy wasabi latte even if he'd reiterated, for the third time, that he wanted something sweet to eat. They spent a good two hours there putting icing on each other's faces, but they ate the cupcakes anyway. It is, to date, still one of their craziest drinking nights in Gangnam. The ones that Minseok barely has any recollection of were all spent in Itaewon or Hongdae. When you're younger, it's easier to live with hangovers.

"Wow. New interiors," Minseok mumbles when they get inside.

"Thought you didn't go here often," Kyungsoo replies, falling in step with him as they head to the second floor.

"Been here once. My friend comes here often for takeout." He steps to his side, letting Kyungsoo walk ahead. Kyungsoo blinks at him for a while, then gives him a curt nod when he doesn't budge. "He loves the wasabi latter."

"I'll stick to my espresso con panna, thanks," Kyungsoo says. He chuckles, then, and cranes his neck. He begins to walk to the table close to the wine cellar. "Someone's in my spot."

"So _you_ come here often."

"Only when Ilsandong bores me. I mean–" Kyungso worries his bottom lip, the corners of his mouth tugging up, then down, then up again, like he isn't so settled with taking a seat other than his usual working area. "It's a quiet place, Ilsan. There aren't much people to watch. Gangnam, however–"

"Is crowded. Packed with all sorts of people." Minseok bows at the lady who hands them the menu. He orders their brunch special, and he catches the curious glance Kyungsoo casts at him. "I don't feel like trying something new."

"You should try their walnut cake. Really good," Kyungsoo mentions. He turns to the lady, then, and places his order, then asks for two slices of walnut cake. Minseok cocks an eyebrow at him. "It's _really good._ "

Minseok shakes his head and leans back, but remembers to take the handkerchief out of his pocket. Once the lady has left, he dangles it in front of Kyungsoo, then takes it back to clutch it close to his chest. "Because you're forcing me to eat walnut cake _and_ because you don't know how to respect your elders."

"I do, _hyung,_ Kyungsoo says in reply, a teeth-baring smile stretching at the corners of his lips. The lighting here is dim, lends just enough light to illuminate the important details of Kyungsoo's face – the mound of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his short eyelashes where light catches and stays. The wicked dip on his top lip, and the gentle swell of his bottom lip.

The light here is too yellow. It isn't supposed to be flattering, but the warm glow softens all of Kyungsoo's hard angles, eases the crease his eyebrows usually make. And it offers some soft of courage to Minseok, too, that he doesn't think twice before biting his lower lip and sucking it in. He doesn't know what it means yet. He doesn't think about it too much. The big, immovable lump in his throat is a force strong enough to choke all of his coherent throughs, prevent them from slipping from his lips.

"Explain," he says after a while, feeling his throat relax. He unfolds the handkerchief and lays it down on his side of the table, but facing Kyungsoo. "And explain why the paint doesn't stink unlike the usual acrylic ones."

Kyungsoo's eyebrows twitch, but it's a good twitch. It pulls up at Kyungsoo's eyelids, rids his features of the tired, weary look he normally fashions. The corners of his mouth lift further up. "It's paint for children. From the makers Play-Doh," Kyungsoo answers. He leans in, then, eyelids dropping as he rests his chin on his clasped hands. Light gives his features a nice, softer contour. Minseok takes a sip of his water. "Gonna buy that brand again. It really _does_ not smudge."

Minseok chuckles. "So you're saying that's the only reason why it doesn't smudge?"

"The technique's hard to explain," Kyungsoo reasons out, lips tugging down in a frown. Or pursing, both his top and bottom lip jutted out and moving to the left and right in healthy intervals. It makes Kyungsoo look three years younger, or like he's a kid in preschool wondering how burnt sienna is different from 'red orange'. It's just a fucking name. "I mean, technically, the whole thing is smudge art. It's just– For these slightly thicker lines here–" He leans closer, pinching his pinky with his thumb and ring finger, then scores along the area but maintains a few good centimeters between his hand and the material. "This is how I hold my makeshift brush. It helps me control the… pressure sensitivity of the stroke."

"This is like one of those speed-sketch things on Youtube," MInseok says, laughing.

"You're making fun of my technique, hyung?"

"No, no. It's just that–" He presses his lips to the back of his hand to keep himself from making any more noise, but it's difficult. Kyungsoo _sounds_ affronted, what with the sudden lilt in his voice, but he doesn't look like it. The light cock of the eyebrow is not intimidating at all, the way his lips are quirked up make him look as if he's choosing between a smile and a scowl, which will communicate his message better, which will get Minseok _hooked_ on the demonstration. "Please, go on. I just find it really… cute when you get really passionate about explaining your art."

Like that one time, during the exhibit, when Kyungsoo found his arms caught up in elaborate gestures that he can normally contain in a tilt of the head. And then that time in Apartmento, when Kyungsoo was explaining to Minseok how artists salvage paintings that would have otherwise been ruined, how he raved about the pressure of each stroke and the proper use of washes and layers of colors. Like now, this exact moment, where Kyungsoo is leaning in, hand crawling closer to where Minseok's hand is.

"I'm not cute," Kyungsoo grumbles. He leans back, then frowns. "I'm not selling my art to anyone who thinks I'm cute."

Right, they've got a transaction to iron out. Minseok hasn't forgotten, but he _has_ shoved it to the deepest part of his mind, at the very back where he can wait for his system to flush it out and make room for Kyungsoo, instead. "About that painting–"

"The Nightwalker," Kyungsoo interrupts. He licks his bottom lip. "The painting is called 'The Nightwalker'."

"Lovely," Minseok says. He beams at Kyungsoo, whose eyes flicker with something Minseok doesn't catch. It's too fast – he only blinked, and then it was gone. But he knows it's there, somewhere, in Kyungsoo's eyes, hidden beneath the many layers of paint. He vows to carve it in his memory the next time he catches it. "It's a fitting name." A loud exhale, and then, "So, the pressure sensitivity?"

"Pressure sensitivity?"

"That you applied on this painting." Minseok taps a finger on the part of the fabric that isn't touched. He traces a line along the curve of the dancer's body, then, and lets his finger hover. "This stroke's too fine for a brush that thick."

Kyungsoo's eyes light up with a familiar glimmer. Minseok has seen this before, somewhere. He just can't remember where.

"After dinner," Kyungsoo says as he cocks his head in the direction of the server. The serving for the New Orleans brunch has gotten bigger. He can't finish this alone. "I'll explain everything after dinner."

☄

"Everything I know about dancing, I learned from _So You Think You Can Dance,_ " Kyungsoo confesses. He takes a generous sip of his espresso con panna, then continues, "And the performance art shows I've gone to. So yes, I _do_ suck at foreshortening."

Minseok flips the painting so that it's facing him. The line of movement is good, helps the viewer appreciate the curve of the body as the ballerina twists her torso and lifts her left leg, but something about the proportion of the part throws him off. It's not something he can determine at the onset, but he sees it there, when he leans closer to assess the painting. "More shadows on this part, and then maybe more highlights here," he says, then traces a small arc along one side of the ballerina's shoulders. "Because the light's coming from this direction, but the movement makes it look like the light in the room where the ballerina's dancing is well-distributed."

"Which isn't true," Kyungsoo adds. He moves his cup of coffee to the other side of the table. "I guess I could… When I transfer this to canvas…"

"You're really planning to complete this?"

Kyungsoo chuckles, eyebrows furrowed a little like Minseok is asking the most stupid question. "I won't be able to sleep at night if I just throw this into the basket. Artists… We don't work that way, hyung."

Minseok chokes on his Americano and swallows hard. There's an ounce of truth to it. Even when he was younger, he couldn't find it in his heart to cut his practice short smack in the middle of a song. It's like telling the dancer to shut up, telling the artist to stop what he's doing because _it will never be good enough._ And no artist wants to be told that. So Minseok had demanded for a bit of respect then, didn't stop dancing until the music stopped. Then he was greeted by Jongdae's applause, then their dance teacher's, and then a few more people. The memory of his little presentation back then is so fresh in his mind that he can recount the details of that particular memory without even thinking twice.

A second skin, that's dancing for him. A second skin he was forced to shed following the accident that took his parents' lives.

"Yeah," he says after a while. Artists don't just drop projects because they're bad or ugly or simply won't work out anymore. There's probably a better way to approach the piece of art, the dance, the performance. "What's holding you back, then?"

Kyungsoo leans back, tearing his gaze from Minseok. His eyes haven't quite lost their glimmer yet, but he looks tired. The magic that had once lightened the dark circles under his eyes are gone, but there's still a small smile on his lips. His eyes are unfocused; his eyebrows are relaxed. It's as if Kyungsoo has slipped into a trance and that he isn't giving Minseok a chance but to deal with this. His features crack, though, when he musters soft laughter. "I need a reference. This isn't something I'm familiar with."

Kyungsoo presses his fingers together and meets Minseok in the eye. "I need to see the real thing with my eyes. I don't want to mess with people's minds and paint something that isn't real."

Minseok presses his lips thinly together and nods. Kyungsoo hums, then asks, "Didn't you say you danced before? Do you… Do you know ballet, hyung?"

The walnut cake in front of him hasn't been touched yet. He's still so full from the brunch medley he'd ordered, even drinking black coffee isn't doing anything to help make space in his stomach. It seems like the perfect time to stuff his mouth with _something_ though, so he takes a piece, albeit a bit bigger than he'd intended, and slips it between his lips. He raises both eyebrows, hoping Kyungsoo will get the message, but Kyungsoo's lips still hang parted in a question. How do you tell someone, though, that you don't dance anymore because you don't want to be reminded of the day dance took your family away from you? How do you tell a stranger about that? How do you tell him that it's been close to twenty years and yet you haven't gotten over it yet, the pain of looking back on that day and thinking you could've told your parents to not rush to the venue? _I dance at the end, umma, there's no need to rush. You don't have to–_ How do you make a stranger understand?

"Yeah, I did," Minseok says between light chews and gulps. He drinks half a glass of water, then looks up at Kyungsoo. "Years ago. When I was a kid."

"But you don't just… outgrow it. It's like a–"

"Second skin," Minseok finishes, at the same time that Kyungsoo says it, voice dropping to a whisper. "There's a way to get rid of it. You just have to… really set your mind on it. Stay away from everything that reminds you of that old skin." He presses his knuckles down on the neck, tracing the gentle slope, and Kyungsoo follows the movement with his gaze. "And then you forget it. It takes a while, but it can be done."

"That's sad," Kyungsoo says, earnest. Minseok follows Kyungsoo's eyes, the gaze traveling further south to settle on Minseok's collarbones. Minseok gulps without meaning to. "Did something–" He laughs a little. "Never mind."

Minseok tilts his head to the side. "Thanks for not prying," he says, smiling a little. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes as if saying, _really now, hyung, do I have a choice?_ Truth be told, Kyungsoo does. He can bug Minseok until Minseok relents. He can make Minseok take one shot of soju after another until his lips feel loose again and all of his muscles relax. Sometimes, it's easier to share a part of your past with a stranger because that person doesn't have any right to pass judgment on you. Kyungsoo has no right, if Minseok ever decides to spill, to raise an eyebrow at him and call him stupid for living in the rotten shell of that accident two decades ago. Kyungsoo wasn't there to pull Minseok out of his slump – that was Jongdae's job. He wasn't there to get Minseok back on his feet and introduce him to a new hobby that he could force himself to turn into a passion – that was Joonmyun's job. He wasn't there, and probably never will be, to take care of Minyoung when Minyoung was always screaming and asking, _Where's umma? Where's appa? Who am I? Why am I here?_

That should've been Minseok's job. He did his part. He could've done more.

"Can you…" Kyungsoo drums his fingers on the table. "Can you talk me through a routine, though? Just short descriptions. I can work with those." Kyungsoo closer his eyes, then bobs his head to some song Minseok can't hear. It isn't to the rhythm of the music in Cork for Turtle. It isn't the same beat Kyungsoo is moving his fingers to. It's a slower tune, and Kyungsoo tilts his head from side to side like he's picturing a dance in his milk. A waltz, Minseok corrects himself, or maybe tango. Kyungsoo throws his head back, lips falling open, and the right corner of his mouth tugs up in a small, almost indiscernible smile.

Shit, Minseok thinks. This is the magic trick, and he's just volunteered to be Kyungsoo's assistant. Kyungsoo's reeling him in with the allure of his swaying, the way he leans back and exposes the column of his neck, the way he smiles through this trance and sucks in his bottom lip and just keeps dancing and dancing and dancing. And Minseok should look away, but he can't. He's trapped. He's signed the contract and he can't get out this spell. He's off-track and he can't get back inside the lines he's drawn for himself.

"Imagine the ballerina taking five steps forward," Minseok whispers, and Kyungsoo's swaying comes to a halt. "Imagine her moving her left foot first, then her right, and the three quick steps. Imagine her pushing herself off the ground when she jumps, legs stretching open."

Kyungsoo hums and the music becomes clearer now. Minseok still can't pinpoint the title, though. Maybe he can ask Kyungsoo about it.

"Imagine her running on tiptoe and facing the crowd," Minseok adds. The gentle bob of Kyungsoo's head urges him to go on.

"Imagine her spinning, faster with every turn. Imagine her not wanting to stop."

☄

At the cusp of Monday and Tuesday, Minseok finds himself walking to Han River with Kyungsoo.

"Fucking cold," Kyungsoo mumbles under his breath, but doesn't slow down walking. It's his idea to go out here, after all, at such a late hour. Never mind that Minseok has an early morning yoga class tomorrow – it's not as if he's done this in a while, anyway. The cool midnight air tickles his skin, makes the hair at the back of his neck stand. He takes a deep breath and spreads his arms, tilts his face up. Funny how living in Apgeujong takes away the midnight magic of the river. Funny how the prospect of making Kyungsoo dance here, in the open street along the Han, can restore the same brand of magic in a blink of an eye.

"You should warm up," Minseok says. He digs his hands in his pockets and hops from one colored tile to another. "You don't want to get any muscle pains in the morning."

"I don't have work in the morning. I can sleep in," Kyungsoo mumbles. He jogs in place, nonetheless, cursing under his breath every so often. "Okay, that definitely feels better."

Minseok stretches his arms over his head, suddenly regretting not bringing gloves when the wind blows. He wiggles his fingers in the air.

The last time he went to the Han was just before the start of EXO's tour. Joonmyun was feeling a bit nostalgic then, knowing that he was going to be flying from one country to another the entire year, moving further away from home. He was humming one of EXO's debut songs, filling the white noise, and Minseok hadn't felt so empty and cold. Joonmyun took his hand in his and started walking in a big circle and, the next thing Minseok knew, they were picking up speed.

"Promise me you'll pick up dancing again?" Joonmyun had asked then. Minseok took a deep breath. His chest felt so full and tight and it was probably the air pressure at work. So he said, with a big smile even, "Sure." He promised Joonmyun that time that he'd try to go back to dancing, and Joonmyun broke off from the circle and started doing his little happy dance that made him look like he was suffering from cramps in his legs.

"Don't laugh at me if I screw up," Kyungsoo says now, teeth chattering in the cold. It's always much colder near the Han. Minseok should have known better than to bravely head out here without proper gear. "Seriously, hyung, I don't know a thing about _real dancing._ I haven't danced since college P.E. class."

"You and I, both," Minseok admits. He twists his torso and bends his knees, then remembers he won't be the one doing the dancing. He'll just be directing from the sidelines, not taking center stage. _Stop that,_ he tells a voice in his mind. _Stop trying to get back into your second skin._

Kyungsoo clenches and unclenches his fists, then stands in front of Minseok, spine snapping straight. His eyes are focused, and light from the lamppost nearby catches on the small dip where his eyebrows meet. "I'm ready," Kyungsoo announces. He clears his throat and meets Minseok in the eye. "Anytime you're ready, hyung."

Minseok takes a step forward, tilting his head to the side as he rests his hands on Kyungsoo's shoulders.

In this light, out here in the open space near the Han, Kyungsoo looks much smaller, like the darkness can eat him up and swallow him whole. It doesn't help that he's wearing a thick black coat, or that his hair is the darkest shade possible. Only his eyes glimmer here, and then the streaks of light breathing life into his hair. Minseok takes a minute to appreciate the way light falls on Kyungsoo's features, takes time to watch pay close attention to the gentle curves of Kyungsoo's face and the way warm light always, always, _always_ softens his features. His cheeks are a light shade of pink, light catching on the swell of flesh. Kyungsoo's nose twitches, all of a sudden, and his lips quirk up. Light reaches it, too, the corners of his lips, the sides, the underside of Kyungsoo's cheeks when Kyungsoo can't decide just yet whether he should go with a smile or a frown.

"Hyung?" Kyungsoo asks, voice so faint he could be breathing. Minseok doesn't lean closer, though, takes a step back and a deep breath.

"Close your eyes," Minseok begins. There's a question in the way Kyungsoo furrows his eyebrows, but he doesn't say a thing. "Just close your eyes and do as I tell you."

Kyungsoo isn't made for classical ballet, Minseok thinks. Sehun would do better in that department – Sehun moves with fluid grace that he doesn't possess when carrying out his day-to-day duties. What would suit Kyungsoo, though, is street dance. Not the 'isolation thing' that he mentioned before, but your classic street dance with the pops and locks and a natural grit to the movement. So Minseok moves closer again, moving Kyungsoo by the shoulders, tucking in one side when he pushes it down, the popping it out as he pushes Kyungsoo's arm back, then out. "That suits you better. Not ballet," he whispers, coughing when the wind blows again, and Kyungsoo makes an indiscernible sound of protest.

Kyungsoo's lips turn down in a frown. It looks funny from this distance, like Kyungsoo's a character from some manhwa Minseok has seen Baekhyun reading before. "I'm painting a ballerina, hyung. _You promised to teach me._ "

"Fine, fine. Ballet, it is." He takes out his phone and steps back again, giving Kyungsoo space. "Swing your right leg forward, bring it down, then bend your knees as you move forward."

Kyungsoo does as he is told, eyebrows furrowing even more. This isn't apprehension, Minseok notes – this is confusion. If Kyungsoo could speak his mind at this very moment, he's probably be saying, _what the fuck are you making me do, hyung?_ , but he doesn't say anything, keeps his lips pressed thinly together as he carries out every instruction Minseok gives him. His body jerks a little everytime the wind blows, each repetition harder than the previous, but that doesn't deter him from moving around. He runs on tiptoe without any direction in mind when Minseok tells him to do so, and Minseok has to run after him to make sure he doesn't accidentally lead himself to the river. He spins on one foot when Minseok says, "Okay, now use your other foot to turn you around– Ah, that's great! Okay, just keep at it. Keep spinning–" And soon Kyungsoo develops his own little routine, a weird variation of ballet that Minseok hasn't quite seen before. It isn't polished, nor is it graceful in any way, but Kyungsoo does the most beautiful of pirouettes when he spins and spins and always lands at his starting point, like he's got this movement memorized like the back of his hand.

Like he's made for this, made to do this – to follow Minseok's instructions and dance in front of him, _for him._

Minseok takes a deep breath, then steadies his hand before pressing the 'stop' button. He knows what will lull him to sleep tonight.

"What's next, hyung?" Kyungsoo calls out, voice louder than the usual. "Hyung?"

Minseok shakes his hand and walks over, clasping a hand over Kyungsoo's mouth when he attempts to call Minseok again.

"Hyung, wha–"

"Ssh. You can open your eyes now," Minseok whispers. He feels the light shiver of Kyungsoo's body against his own, and only then does he realize that they're pressed so close to each other – back to chest, Kyungsoo's lips on his palm. He feels his fingers twitch, and he quickly drops his hands to his side in time for Kyungsoo to turn around. Kyungsoo is squinting, but his lips are tugged up to a smile that bares all of his teeth and gives Minseok a peek of his gums. _Cute, little pink gums,_ Minseok says in his mind, because Kyungsoo would probably punch him in the gut if he voiced that out.

"How did I do?" Kyungsoo asks, grinning. He bites his bottom lip, slips his tongue between his lips, then exhales. "Was it good?"

Minseok scrunches his nose when he feels Kyungsoo's breath on his skin. It tickles, and his chest feels so full with _something_ he can't quite pinpoint yet, and he's not even running around in a circle with Kyungsoo. He's just here, standing in front of Kyungsoo, the tips of their toes a good five, six inches apart, a distance big enough that Minseok has to lean in if wants to examine Kyungsoo some more, but short enough if he wants space to breathe. So he takes a step back and holds two thumbs up, hoping Kyungsoo will get the message. The corners of Kyungsoo's eyes crinkle and a bigger grin stretches his lips wide open, and Minseok gulps hard. Swallows the thick lump in this his throat. Tries to fight the equally big smile that is pulling so hard at the corners of his mouth that the stretch stings.

Kyungsoo spins on one foot again, and again, and again, and screams into the night, a sound of victory that rivals the heavy thumping in Minseok's chest. When Kyungsoo grabs him by his wrists for a victory dance, he only hesitates for a second, but allows Kyungsoo to pull him in.


	3. Chapter 3

"Five minutes later than the usual, hyung," Jongdae comments. He thrusts a cup of coffee between Minseok's hands, then says, "What happened?"

A lot of things, Minseok wants to say. He ate the best walnut cake he's had in a while, and regretted having an Americano at such a late hour. Kyungsoo dragged him out to the river to teach him how to do ballet. Kyungsoo tried to make him dance, too, urged him to mimic his victory dance that involved bobbing his head to the left, then to the right, while wearing the duck face look and with his fingers pointing to his sides. Kyungsoo looked stupid then, and Minseok probably would've looked just as awful, and it wasn't a risk he was willing to take. He hasn't worked hard to be a yoga instructor and gym trainer to the stars just to do a modified Egyptian dance out in the open, along the Han. Sure, he isn't as popular as Joonmyun is, but he's got an image to uphold.

That, and Kyungsoo is friends with Kibum. If Kibum _ever_ found out that he did the Egyptian dance in public, Kibum would never let on.

"Thanks," is the only thing Minseok says in response. He yawns only when he's well out of Jongdae's sight. "By the way, got in touch with Kibum. He said he'll drop by after lunch and show you some of his dance moves."

Jongdae catches up and tears a pack of brown sugar over Minseok's coffee. "Did you say the post was for Zumba?"

"Yup. Made it clear."

"Your friend makes it sound like an audition for _So You Think You Can Dance_ or something."

Minseok stops in his tracks and bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning. The other side of his face betrays him. "He turns everything into a competition."

"Ah, he _is_ hyung's friend." Jongdae nods, slow and thoughtful. "Sehun didn't eat one of his eggs. You can have that one, if you want."

From the staff pantry, Sehun's voice booms. "I didn't give you permission to give away my eggs, hyung!"

Minseok clasps a hand on Jongdae's shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. "I'll go cook my own eggs."

The fatigue is worse than having to deal with a hangover, Minseok thinks. He didn't feel this way the first two times he went out with Kyungsoo for drinks. The primary difference, he supposes, is the fact that alcohol warms up the body faster, for a longer time. And they'd had three bottles of soju then; what's a cup of coffee each to those? Add to that the reality that Kyungsoo dragged him out to the river at midnight when the wind blows the strongest, and what do you have? Two people asking for trouble and sore muscles. Kyungsoo asking Minseok to run him through a ballet routine. Minseok asking for nothing in return, but getting Kyungsoo's warm smile as a token.

He fishes for his phone from his pocket and launches KKT. He sends a reminder to Kibum to turn up in the gym on time, and a text to Kyungsoo that says, _Salonpas is good for sore muscles. Drink milk and eat hard-boiled egg for energy!_

 _I only need coffee in my life. But thanks, hyung,_ comes Kyungsoo's quick reply. Minseok's prepared to slip his phone back in his pocket when another message comes in. _All is well with you, I hope?_

Minseok's knee-jerk response is to chuckle, but something in him claws at his chest, sends a sizzle of heat down his spine. It's the same brand of warmth he felt when Kyungsoo, drunk with the taste of victory in the form of a weird dance at one in the morning, grabbed him by the wrist and twirled him around. It's different from the press of Jongdae's arm against his, or even Joonmyun's soft smile at that split-second of respite just before he leaves a get-together with the promise of seeing his friends again in six months. It's different, because none of those make Minseok's insides turn, make his stomach lurch, or even choke down all the words threatening to spill from Minseok's lips. And different isn't something Minseok is comfortable with. Different puts him off, makes him shiver. Different scares him.

His thumb hovers the input area for a second, then he clicks the marker once to pull up the keyboard. He's tempted to type something to tease Kyungsoo, but he's in broad daylight and there's no darkness to lend him the courage that he needs. There's no alcohol to give liquid strength, no alcohol to silence the strange voices in his head telling to lean in, to hold back, to bite his tongue whenever he feels like reaching out to run his thumb along Kyungsoo's lips.

He sucks in his cheeks and fiddles with phone before texting. _I'll live :D_ he types as a reply later, then sends it before he can even change his mind.

When his phone sounds off again – two beeps, five seconds apart – he jumps straight to reading Kibum's text and tries to keep himself from grinning at Kyungsoo's message.

☄

"So, how exactly did you two meet?"

Kibum looks at Minseok across the table, then kicks Minseok in the calf. He has half the mind the groan with Jongdae within an earshot, but Kibum is wearing a grin too big for his face and has eyes so focused that Minseok feels trapped against the wall behind him. This is Kibum's way of saying, _Hey, hyung, the ball's in your court. You don't want me to come up with a weird backstory for us._ A more subtle way of coaxing Minseok to take charge of the situation because Kibum doesn't know to how to move around Jongdae yet. So Minseok returns the favor, nudges Kibum's foot under the table with his own, then turns to face Jongdae.

"Art stuff. Back in college." Minseok rubs the rip of his nose instead of scrunching his face. The last time he went for the scrunch, Jongdae called him out for bluffing. He wasn't lying then and he isn't now, but it's better to be safe. "Through Joonmyun, actually. You know he is when it comes to art."

"Weird?" Jongdae asks. He casts a tentative glance at Kibum, then takes a sip of water before offering Kibum a smile. "I mean, yeah, he loves variety."

It's not as if he and Kibum had some sordid relationship in the past. It's completely wholesome, no touching, no getting frisky. He helped Kibum get rid of the paint in his hands by wiping his fingers, but that's about it. Kibum was the person who helped him know more about art, was patient enough to teach him how to look past the flourish in paintings or the intricate details in them. Heck, Kibum sat through hours upon hours of Minseok trying to figure out Van Gogh and why he painted those twelve sunflowers instead of just ten. Then helped prep him for Joonmyun's upcoming art talk on Degas' pieces. Kibum was his art teacher, a mentor, someone who helped him understand why art is art and why people create it. He strengthened the already bubbling love Minseok had for art; Joonmyun sparked the interest and kept it there, left of his chest, thumping violently against his rib cage.

"Joonmyun can be boring," Kibum comments after chewing the meat in his mouth. Jongdae looks up, then, eyes wide in – disbelief? Surprise? Something he can't quite place yet? Jongdae's mouth hangs agape and there's a slow-forming smile on Kibum's lips. It tickles Minseok's insides a little, makes him giggle. "He likes old people things and is serious about everything. But eh, he's… he provides a good balance."

Kibum casts a look at Minseok and smiles. "He's good at keeping people around," Minseok says.

Jongdae pins Minseok in place with a stare. The smile on his lips is disconcerting.

Halfway through lunch, Kibum introduces soju and Jongdae picks up the bottle without hesitation, offering to pour some for Kibum. Kibum offers pieces of information on Minseok in kind, and Jongdae makes the strangest sounds while laughing at Kibum's stories about Minseok. "Fell on his ass straight into a bucket of paint. That was when we were in… second year? Or wait– You and Joonmyun were in second year, I was a freshman. Which is unfair, don't you think? I mean–" Kibum grumbles then takes the shot Jongdae hands him before continuing. " _We're_ the same age, Joonmyun and I. How come he's a year higher that I am in the academic world?"

"Because he doesn't forget to turn in his homework, unlike you," Minseok answers, then pinches Kibum in his side. "And you always got into trouble while he was always a good boy."

"Pssh. I was just fighting for my beliefs," Kibum argues. He turns to Jongdae with a scowl on his face and Jongdae doesn't seem to be fazed, laughter still bubbling on his lips. "The logo for the theatre club was _ugly_. Did I want to be associated with that? A world-class stage performer being associated with an ugly logo?"

"This is a job interview, right?" Minseok asks, alternating between looking at Jongdae, then Kibum. "If I were the boss, I'd turn him down on the spot."

Jongdae snorts. "But you aren't."

"You two are the worst." He fishes for his phone to check the time – it's one in the afternoon. His next yoga class isn't until four, but he still needs to get some things sorted out with the facility in Yeouido. He has to give Sunyoung a call, tell her he can actually make it and tell her that she should thank Kibum, he'd be open to a date or just a walk in the park. Kibum isn't hard to please. Sehun has a Zumba session at 5:30 and he's been asked to sit in in that class, just to observe and see if he'll ever find it in his heart to get back into dancing. And then after an hour of watching Sehun gyrate his hips and wiggle his ass, he'll finally be free to leave the gym, meet up with Kyungsoo at the train station. Grab a bite somewhere in Hongdae because _It's been a while since I've last been to Organic. You know that place, hyung?_

"I'm gonna start buying you some of those adult milk things," Jongdae says, then frowns. "Or maybe multivitamins? Have you even been drinking your meds?"

"I know why you're friends with Joonmyun now," Kibum comments.

Jongdae cocks an eyebrow. "What does that even mean?"

Kibum doesn't say anything – to Jongdae, at least, but he does cast a glance at Minseok, an eyebrow cocked, a corner of his mouth upturned. His lips say _I think I know what you're up to,_ but his eyes are saying _but just in case I don't, give more time to figure it out. I'll give you more time to figure your shit out._ So Kibum buys him time, engages in a small banter with his future employer and new acquaintance as Jongdae complains that they're out of soju, that KIbum doesn't look drunk yet and that's unfair, that Kibum makes weird, nasty comments but that he's a good dancer.

"He's really good. I hate him," Jongdae says, head rested on Minseok's shoulder as they wait for the bill and for Kibum to get back from the comfort room, but Minseok knows the hate is for show. He _knows_ Jongdae, maybe more than he should, and he knows what Jongdae means by hating someone. It's a recognition of someone's talent, that someone is better than him, an admission of defeat. Minseok knows because he taught Jongdae that, the subtle science of denial. Hating on someone's capabilities is part of the deal.

Minseok chuckles when his phone sounds off twice, notifications only five seconds from each other. Kyungsoo's name glares at him in big, chunky characters, but the sticker Kyungsoo sends him – a bear dangling from monkey bars – isn't telling him anything. He can't read Kyungsoo, not from this distance. He hates it. And he hates it even more that he keeps scouring the surface for clues, a hint, every chipped off piece paint that Kyungsoo has left behind with every move he makes. He's addicted to the hunt. This isn't like any thrill he's felt in his life.

He types a quick apology for not answering earlier and says, _Kibum got the job after making Jongdae drink. You have weird friends._

Kyungsoo's reply comes too fast and hits too hard. _He's crazy. But no, hyung, I don't have weird friends. Just interesting ones._

_Like you._

☄

The ten-minute walk from the samgyupsal place to the gym turns into a fifteen-minute one, with Jongdae's grip tight on his shoulder. The last time he got drunk at noon with Jongdae was years ago, possibly one of those earlier days of employment. Drinking while working in an ad agency was normal; drinking with the intern probably wasn't. Still, they got the job done, and turned in their deliverables for the day ten minutes before they were due. Jongdae got full credits for that particular task and was given permission to include the graphics he'd done in his portfolio. A rare event, if you'd consider the fact that brands are very particular about any material with their name tacked to it that comes out. Too many ad agencies tried to get a hold of Jongdae, but he eventually went into media. Left three years later to find his strength again. Found himself building a small gym somewhere in Gyeonggi-do and built a good name for the gym there, before moving to Apgeujong two years later.

And here he is now – in Minseok's arms, swearing upon the winds of autumn beating down on him that he's _fucking thirty-something, I shouldn't be drinking in the afternoon anymore._

"Will he be okay?" Kibum asks. His eyes are sullen, like he'll fall asleep anytime, but his cheeks are still their normal color and he isn't slurring his words yet. His tolerance has always been better than most people's. "Shit, I probably shouldn't have–"

"Made your employer drink on the day of your interview," Minseok finishes. He gives Kibum a pat on the shoulder, then says, "Can you help me with _this thing?_ "

Kibum's reflexes are still quick – his body jerks at Jongdae's slightest movement, and laughs when Minseok grumbles about troublesome friends who don't know how to hold their alcohol. "That was me back in college," Kibum comments, then hoists Jongdae up. "Remember that time, when we were in Joonmyun's dorm? Drinking while working on our humanities homework?"

Minseok laughs a little at the memory. He can still remember the way Kibum laughed when Joonmyun emerged form the showers, cheeks pink, shampoo still in his hair. He'd helped Joonmyun rinse off the bubbles then, and Joonmyun offered to scrub his back. He declined without reason back then. Joonmyun should know the logic behind it now. "You were working on your humanities homework. _We_ were doing more important things."

"Yeah, like rolling on the bed or something. Jerking each other off."

" _Kibum._ "

"What?" Kibum says now, stopping at the foot of the last flight of stairs.

The elevator's out of service and the gym is at the third floor. It's an easy enough climb, so carrying something of this weight – a real, breathing human being – over his shoulder shouldn't be difficult, but he can feel every muscle in his body screaming, complaining that they can't bear this weight. Not at this point in time, with the alcohol in Minseok's system. He's never been the one to overestimate his skill, but he's never had to unload burden halfway through the hike, either. He's always _managed_ , somehow, if the years he's spent traveling from Yeouido to Gangnam and then back is a testament to that. He's managed having a sister who's void of emotions and memories for more than a decade. He's managed to not throw up at the mere mention of dancing.

He's managed to keep himself in balance, in control. Kibum meeting Jongdae, this overlap, it throws him off a little. It makes his stomach lurch. It makes his chest constrict with a feeling so thick he wants to pound on his chest as hard as he can just to get the blockage out.

"I told you, nothing happened between us," Minseok finally says. "Joonmyun and I were never a thing. I mean–" He scoffs. "He had a girlfriend back in senior year and she was younger than him. He doesn't like boys, Kibum. He doesn't like people like me."

He means, Joonmyun doesn't like people who have crosses plaguing them day in and day out. He means, Joonmyun doesn't want any more trouble than he already has. School was enough a headache back then. The sleepy, lazy handjobs in the showers didn't mean a thing. They were just helping each other cope with stress, expectations from people, obligations. Joonmyun's parents wanted him to take up business and he went into marketing communications, instead. Minseok… His parents wanted to be alive to see him prosper, but he killed them.

"I've seen his pictures with Baekhyun, hyung. It's a familiar look."

"He loves taking care of broken people. He's not– He said he wasn't–"

Kibum hoists Jongdae up again when Jongdae squirms and moves a little. "Never said this before because I thought you'd be able to get it, but looks like you still haven't. You know why 'nothing' happened between you two? Because you kept preventing things from happening."

There's a faint murmur of _excuse me_ coming from behind, so Minseok steps to his left, making way for the stranger to walk past them. It draws him closer to Kibum, takes away the comfort the distance between them offers. Takes down the wall between the two of them that they have agreed to build because they respect each other's need for space, a need to distance themselves from certain issues in his life. Kibum takes a deep breath and Jondgae moves closer to him, nuzzling his shoulder.

"It's too late to do anything now, but it's not too late to do something for yourself. So c'mon, hyung, live a little. Answer the person who's been texting you the whole time we were at lunch. Tell him he's a fucking asshole for getting in the way of quality time with friends but tell him that yes, you'll go out with him later. 7 p.m.. See you."

Minseok laughs a little. "You're telling _your friend_ that he's an asshole."

"No, hyung. I'm telling you–" He shifts in his position, holding Jongdae by the waist now and gesturing for Minseok to drop his hands to his side. "I'm telling you that it's okay. This thing, you telling me to work for a friend of yours, that's a big thing, hyung. It's big." Soft laughter escapes Kibum's lips, but smile pulling up at the corners of his mouth is still tentative, uncertain. "And I appreciate it. It's a big step for you. You've finally graduated from baby steps because _Jesus,_ you're a big boy now!"

He'd like to be young again, if he could. Things are much easier when you're younger. "I wish I were taller."

"I wish you were happier, hyung," Kibum whispers. He gives Minseok's foot a light kick. "A happier you means a happier me. C'mon, help me out. I don't want to be in the company of miserable people."

His phone vibrates in his pocket and makes this loud beeping sound. Kibum raises both eyebrows but doesn't question Minseok, doesn't say anything, doesn't even kick him in his calf. Instead, Kibum continues the journey up, dragging Jongdae – _their boss_ – up the stairs and to the entrance of the gym.

Minseok takes out his phone and chuckles when he sees Kyungsoo's message. _Isn't Hongdae a bit too far from you, though, hyung? Are you sure it's not a bother?_ it says, followed by a series of cute bear stickers that Minseok could've easily thought came from someone else had Kyungsoo not mentioned once, in passing, that sometimes he resorts to stickers when he can't phrase his thoughts properly.

 _Visuals instead of words,_ a voice in Minseok's mind says. _Dancing when he can't find a way to express excitement._ The way Kyungsoo looked so weird yet attuned with happiness when he was dancing along the Han at midnight. The way Kyungsoo, without a hint of hesitation, grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into his tiny dance.

 _Hongdae is fine :)_ Minseok says in reply. _See you at 7:30?_

 _7:30 is good,_ comes Kyungsoo's message. After a while, another text comes in and Minseok stops in his tracks, really stops walking and takes steady, even breaths to keep himself from grinning in the middle of the staircase.

_Can't wait!_

☄

The last thing Minseok expects after his shift at the gym is a visitor. The last time it happened, Joonmyun showed up at the doorstep of the gym with pizza on one hand an apology in the other. "Part two at home. I have soju in the fridge," Joonmyun had said then, and trudged to the staff pantry without preamble. He'd kept Jongdae around until they finished the pizza, but hadn't told Jongdae about 'part two'. It seemed at that time that all he needed was someone to eat with, but Minseok should've known better. Joonmyun grabbed him by the wrist as soon as they were inside Joonmyun's flat and Joonmyun whispered, lips grazing the underside of Minseok's jaw, "Just this once. Please. For old time's sake."

"Kibum summoned me," Kyungsoo explains now, when Minseok looks at him with furrowed eyebrows. He cranes his neck, looking around the gym, and takes small, tentative steps past the doorstep. "Said something about celebrating his 'funemployment', whatever that means."

"He loves making things up," Minseok replies. He gestures for Kyungsoo to come closer, and Kyungsoo gives him a curt nod in response. "He'll be teaching Sehun's classes for the time being. Never pegged him as the Zumba kind of guy, but–"

"You've seen him get drunk at org parties?"

Minseok snorts. Kibum does that every other day at the dorm he shares with Minseok and Joonmyun. "Yeah. A lot of times."

Kyungsoo lays a palm flat on Minseok's shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but you'll be seeing more of that now."

It takes a while to register the warmth pressed on his shoulder – five whole seconds, to be exact, because it's the same amount of time Kyungsoo takes to move closer and narrow the distance between them. The tips of their toes are a good six inches apart; their noses, even more, but Kyungsoo's stare makes the distance seem much closer, makes it dissipate into thin air. White light isn't so flattering on Kyungsoo – it exposes the pimples on his cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes. The way his ears burn a bright red when Minseok gulps hard and wets his lips in an effort to restore the feeling in his mouth. The rough planes of Kyungsoo's face that pronounce the sudden upward tug of his lips. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he says, "Think you can live with that?"

"I lived with him for two years," Minseok confesses. His nose twitches in disapproval – Kyungsoo doesn't need to know that. "I've seen worse."

"Do I want to know?"

"You probably don't." Minseok gulps again, and a traitorous cold crawls up the walls of his throat. Kyungsoo slides his hand down, the cold pads of his fingers leaving a trail along Minseok's arm. "Unless you're fond of nightmares."

"I'm a night-walker," Kyungsoo answers simply. He takes a step back, smiling. "I play with nightmares and turn them into dreams."

The spell is broken when Kibum arrives, busy with adjusting the strap of his backpack. "Remind me to buy a new one," he tells Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo walks over to where Kibum is, helping him zip up the front pocket. Kibum looks up at Minseok, then, pouting just before he mouths, _sorry for third-wheeling, hyung._

"You're paying, right?" Kyungsoo asks.

"The eldest always pays," Kibum says, then turns to Minseok with a grin. "Right, hyung?"

"Never mind, I'm paying," Kyungsoo announces even before Minseok can say a thing. Minseok doesn't question him, but he does wait for the follow-up, the words set to tumble from Kyungsoo's lips with the way his mouth hangs slightly open. "I… I have a favor to ask. I mean if that's okay with you, hyung."

"Let's talk about it later," Minseok says. He offers Kyungsoo a small smile in the mean time, then looks over his shoulder to bid Jongdae goodbye.

Kibum drags them to a juk place nearby, about a few blocks east of the gym. Cheongdam isn't a part of Gangnam Minseok frequents unless Kibum invites him over, but it has the same atmosphere as Apgeujong – a mix of the old and the new, a vast calm with just the right hint of noise. Kibum navigates the streets like the back of his hand, telling them to turn a corner, walk along this side street, "Stick to the left side. It's a hidden gem." Kibum cocks his head in the direction of the entrance, and what greets them inside is a restaurant that feels a lot like those traditional Korean homes. Even the floors are heated.

"Take off your shoes," Kibum whispers, then bows to one of the ladies at the entrance. She engages Kibum in a quick chat, like meeting an acquaintance from school, and Kibum quickly turns the conversation into a more familiar one. She knows Kibum's favorites, the ones he doesn't like, and reminds him of that one time when he discovered a weird kind of juk because of an experiment he did with his food.

"Just… three of the house special, please. For me and my friends here," Kibum says, then, once they're seated. He's still laughing from when the girl had teased him about the weird juk he made. "And extra yellow radish for my tiny friend."

Minseok nudges Kibum in his side. "Remember, this hyung of yours is paying."

"Hyung, you're small. _He_ is tiny," Kibum says in defense, cocking his head in Kyungsoo's direction.

Kyungsoo is quick to respond, but he ends up slapping Minseok on the arm instead of Kibum. He mumbles a small apology but keeps his eyes narrowed at Kibum. Minseok only leans back, freeing himself from Kibum's hold, and doesn't hold back his laughter.

The strange thing about Kibum and Kyungsoo's friendship is that it seems, _feels_ a lot like his friendship with Joonmyun. It's not the in-your-face kind of friendship where both of them openly declare love for each other, or even just an ounce of appreciation. It's there, though, the unspoken bond. It's in every small gesture, every jerk of the body that just screams, _hey, we're friends._ There's no denying it. Kibum drops a memory from years back and Kyungsoo admits to remembering it by raising his eyebrows or the gentle bob of the head. Kyungsoo comments on Kibum's story, _builds on it_ like he knows Kibum's life inside and out. And maybe he does. Kibum teases Kyungsoo more than he engages him in a real conversation, and Kyungsoo's responses are mostly laced with snark or a snide remark, but the message still cuts across. Sometimes the hard slaps on Kibum's arm turn into careful touches, a gentle slide all the way down to Kibum's wrist. And Kibum, for all of his lack of fondness for overt displays of affection, doesn't pull away.

Minseok takes a shaky breath and pops some kimchi in his mouth. The spices sting his lips. His throat burns.

Kyungsoo looks up at him with wide eyes. "Water?"

"Nah, I'm good," Minseok answers. Kyungsoo insists, hands him his own glass, and doesn't look away until Minseok has taken a sip.

Kyungsoo doesn't bring up the favor until hours after, after leaving the juk place and grabbing takeout coffee on their way to the Han. "This brings back memories," Kyungsoo whispers, sliding next to Minseok. There's something in Kyungsoo's eyes, a glimmer that blinds Minseok when Kyungsoo takes a step closer to a lamppost. The lights here are warm and _Jesus,_ Minseok will never get to used to how light falls on Kyungsoo's face, brings out a different side of him every single time. Kyungsoo's lips are tugged up, just a small smile at the corners, and his eyes are half-mast.

Kyungsoo hasn't had his coffee yet, not tonight. Minseok can still see the playful sparkle in Kyungsoo's eyes, though, shining even brighter when Kyungsoo says, "I have a favor. A huge favor, so I'd understand if you'd say no."

The wind blows hard, sending a shiver down Minseok's spine. Kyungsoo moves closer, perhaps for warmth, and Minseok doesn't step to his side or walk away. He needs this, too – a comforting presence beside him, the rubbing of their elbows sending a jolt up his arm. His fingers numb for a second, until he feels the light brush of Kyungsoo's hand against his own. Kyungsoo is… warm, for some weird reason. His fingers are supposed to be cold from the blowing winds and his teeth are chattering, and Kyungsoo is shivering at every lash of the air. He's not supposed to be hot. The inelegant slide of their fingers between their coats isn't supposed to make Minseok feel warm.

Kyungsoo looks around for an audience before grabbing Minseok's hand and stuffing it in his pocket. Minseok stops in his tracks, turning to his side to face Kyungsoo. "What–"

"You were shivering, hyung. I can't let my subject die form the cold," Kyungsoo mumbles. Minseok can feel it now, the traitorous cold crawling up Kyungsoo's skin, Kyungsoo's fingers sliding down his palm, the pads hooking onto the webs of Minseok's fingers. The grip is tight, but it isn't uncomfortable. The light twitch of Kyungsoo's fingers tickles Minseok, make his stomach lurch in several different directions and make him choke on a sound clawing at his throat.

"Your subject?" Minseok manages to ask through chattering teeth. A corner of Kyungsoo's lips tugs up. Minseok's heart raps against his ribcage so hard he almost fears he'll have to run after it and explain to the cops.

"Ah, about that…" Kyungsoo scratches the slope of his neck with his knuckles, still clutching his coffee in his hand. "I was wondering if you want to be the subject of my next painting. I want to paint a dancer, and you seemed really happy that night, when we–"

 _That night._ Minseok almost wheezes when the wind blows another time, this time against their faces. The winds were kinder then, and Kyungsoo wasn't making these tiny puppy noises as the cool breeze crept up their necks. They felt… warmer that time, like they weren't walking by the river at an obscene hour. Like they'd gone to the Han prepared and not in just one layer of jackets. Maybe it's because Kyungsoo was dancing with his eyes closed, blindly following every word Minseok uttered, and Minseok was running after him. Maybe it's because they were moving then unlike now, where they're just standing beside each other, fingers intertwined in Kyungsoo's coat pocket.

Kyungsoo sneezes and he scrunches his nose. His cheeks are a light shade of pink, but his ears and the tip of his nose burn a bright red. Minseok feels a surge of warmth, then, rushing up his chest, his neck, his cheeks.

"I have a video of that," Minseok whispers. Kibum's still walking, not bothering to shoot a glance at them. Minseok takes a deep breath. "Makes me laugh everytime I watch it."

Kyungsoo snorts. "I'm not a dancer, hyung. I looked awful that time–"

"Cute, actually." Minseok rubs the tip of his nose with the back of his other hand. Kyungsoo hasn't broken eye contact, not yet, and his cheeks still aren't as red as his ears are. It's strange. Kyungsoo is strange, and Minseok likes his friends weird. "You could use some practice, though. Get formal training or something. I could hook you up with–"

"Kibum dances. I just… choose not to watch him." Kyungsoo laughs a little. It sounds more like a snort than anything else, but the wind muffles it, softens the harsh tone. Kyungsoo presses his lips together before continuing. "But you– Hyung, you always move like you're dancing."

 _So I've been told,_ he wants to say. It's not the first time he's heard that comment, not in this lifetime or since he quit dancing. It's a fever he's come to live with, living in the shadows of his dancing limbs. It's not as if he can just get his arms and legs cut off, wear a different skin and be a different Kim Minseok. Dancing is part of him, the same way that fixing people is part of Joonmyun. Dancing is his second skin the way the gym makes up half of who Jongdae is. Dancing is the body and he is the shadow, the same way that art is the puppeteer that controls Kyungsoo's lips. Art fuels Kyungsoo; dance pins Minseok in place, chains his ankles. Doesn't allow him to move and run away.

"Funny, I haven't danced in years," Minseok whispers. He takes a deep breath, then tilts his head so he can see Kyungsoo better. "I don't dance anymore, Kyungsoo, I told you that before. I'm... old."

"You just need to oil those hinges," Kyungsoo teases. He runs his thumb along a one of Minseok's knuckles inside his pocket.

"You're only a few years younger."

Kyungsoo shrugs. "Still younger." He stares for a while, then pulls away in one swift motion. "Still capable of running and dancing if I wanted to."

That's the problem, Minseok wants to say – Kyungsoo wants to run, to dance. Minseok doesn't. The mere thought of letting his limbs move to the beat of a song scares him, makes shivers run down his spine. The thought of _losing himself_ to the beats makes his chest constrict and his heart feel heavy. So instead of subjecting himself to torture, he'll save himself from it. He's not in this world to make his life a living hell. He's okay with where he is now.

"You know what I want to do?" Minseok bumps his hip into Kyungsoo's. "Drink coffee. _This,_ " he says, then, holding up his cup. Kyungsoo raises both eyebrows and a small, almost indiscernible smile surfaces on Kyungsoo's lips. He reaches out to clutch at Minseok's coat. "You should drink yours, too. It'll get cold."

"Coffee doesn't lose its warmth easily if you keep the cover on. Traps the heat there–" Kyungsoo draws the opening of the lid close to his nose, taking a deep breath. "Inside. It'll take time to just get rid of something like that, hyung."

From a corner of his eye, he sees Kibum stop in his tracks. Kyungsoo keeps him pinned in place, eyes sharp and focused. Unrelenting.

"How long?"

"Can't tell." Kyungsoo takes a sip. "I just know it'll take a while."

Minseok scoffs, then removes the lid of his cup. "Well, it's been a while."

Kibum has his hands on hips when Minseok turns to face him. He's saying something, but most of his words get caught in the air, muffled by the soft howling of the winds. Kyungsoo's laughter rings loudly in his ears, though, but maybe that's because Kyungsoo is pressed close to his side, so close that he can feel Kyungsoo's hot breath – another source of warmth – on his skin.

The aftermath is a tickling, pricking sensation at the back of his ears. Minseok doesn't shiver, but he does attempt to stifle his giggle by taking a sip of his coffee. Kyungsoo stays still until Minseok resurfaces and feels his knees again. They take tiny steps forward, until Kibum calls out to them – "Ya, are your knees weak already or something?" Kyungsoo raises a fist but keeps the smile – big, bright, youthful – on his lips.

Minseok takes another step a bit too early and Kyungsoo catches on. He doesn't rush. The coffee is hot to touch, but it doesn't sting.

☄

_Should've gone with you, hyung,_ Kyungsoo says via text. _Can't sleep. Kibum's too noisy._

Minseok rolls over to lie flat on his stomach, but regrets it soon after. The juk hasn't gone down completely yet, even after the long walk and the hot coffee. He hasn't come down from the high from spending a long night with his friends, either. He's never been fond of frequent meet ups, but this new sound to fill the white noise with is a breath of fresh air. It isn't like those tiring nights out with Baekhyun, Yixing, and Lu Han, going club-hopping in ridiculous disguises and having to explain to Joonmyun after that _I'm 100% sure they didn't get caught. You think they'd recognize Baekhyun in this costume? Really, Joonmyun?_ There's no need to be alert and to keep his defenses up.

Two laters of clothing and a scarf wrapped around his neck – that's a wall thick enough for the biting winds to not weigh down on him too much. The distance between him and Kyungsoo – Apgeujong and Cheongdam, a short enough distance if Minseok was crazy enough to walk from point A to point B – possibly not enough. it's two in the morning and the light from his phone is too bright for his eyes. And yet here he is, typing a reply while choking back a retort.

 _Ah, regrets,_ Minseok says. He worries his bottom lip, then adds, _Clear your mind? Put on earphones?_

_He'll kill me if I don't hear the alarm. I'm supposed to wake him up tomorrow :|_

Well there's a smiley, Minseok thinks. This is something new, too. _Sleep in the living room. He has a comfy couch there._

 _Oh... You've been here before, hyung?_ Kyungsoo asks.

If Minseok squints hard enough, it will be easier to read the underlying _how come we never got introduced before?_ He sees it clearly, though, in the sticker Kyungsoo sends – a bear with wide eyes and a question mark hovering its head. He superimposes Kyungsoo face onto the bear and laughs a little, but he surfaces not too long after. Silence is a language Kyungsoo speaks, and Minseok wouldn't want to be misinterpreted.

He has an answer prepared, anyway – he shares Kibum's need to compartmentalize. He doesn't like mixing his social circles. He doesn't drink coffee with chocolate so _sorry, Joonmyun, but I don't like hot mocha._ He's been living in his shell for most part of his life and the only time he goes outside of Gangnam is when he visits his sister in Yeouido, or catches a show with Joonmyun somewhere. He's never needed to have a life outside of Apgeujong, Yeouido, and Insadong, so he stayed inside the lines he'd drawn with his own hands. It's possible for two people with common interests to not find each other until life decides, after grumbling loud enough for those two people to hear, to make them collide.

 _Joonmyun_ is the only thing Minseok replies with. Kyungsoo's reply is equally curt – _Right._ Minseok stares at the screen longer than he should, waiting for a reply, but it never comes. Instead, fatigue creeps up to him, tugs at his eyelids and presses down on his shoulders.

 _Sing to yourself. It always helps me sleep,_ Minseok says, then. After a while, he adds, _Rest well. Hope you won't have Kibum dreams!_

 _Well I can't hear his mumbling from the living room. Thanks for the tip, hyung,_ Kyungsoo replies. A short text in small font appears at the bottom of the screen, just above the input box. It reads, _Do Kyungsoo is typing a message._

_Go to bed, hyung. Old people need to sleep._

Minseok scoffs, but the smile on his lips isn't fooling anyone. He certainly isn't fooling himself.

 _Good night, Do Kyungsoo,_ he types, then pauses to let his fingers hover. Feeling his hands again, he continues, _Sweet dreams._

☄

"So your friend Kibum agreed to take Sehun's morning classes," Jongdae says as a greeting. The follow up is quick, with Jongdae offering a warm mug of coffee to Minseok. "He's… rather hyper after one cup."

 _Rather hyper_ isn't something Minseok hears from Jongdae often. The last time he'd used it was with Baekhyun, and even then Jongdae sounded apprehensive, like he wasn't sure if he should've gone with 'fucking noisy' instead. Jongdae isn't lying, though, because when Minseok enters the staff pantry Kibum greets him with a bright smile and an equally bright, "Good morning, hyung!"

Minseok sinks his lips into the mug and blows at the liquid. The scent of coffee doesn't quite reach his nostrils. He'll have to try harder.

"Hey," he begins. He takes a sip, then offers Kibum a smile. "You're early."

"Could've sworn boss said the same thing," Kibum mumbles but envelops Minseok in a hug, anyway. Kibum makes sure, though, to take the mug from Minseok's hands and slide the bag slung over his shoulder before pulling him close for an embrace. "You people here should be more awake at this hour. Six in the morning? People are already flocking the convenience store at this hour!"

Sehun motions to raise a hand behind Kibum, but Minseok widens his eyes at him and mouths _don't say a word._ "Yeah. We're lazy asses," Minseok says. "Good thing we have you around, huh?"

"Yeah. Good thing." Kibum points at Minseok, then winks. "I knew I could trust you to tell the truth."

Kibum turns on his heel, then, and takes his glass of water outside. He waves at the two, then excuses himself to take a walk around the gym. Only then does Sehun turn to Minseok with furrowed eyebrows and a question written in the way he furrows his eyebrows. "What the hell just happened?"

"Two things you have to know about Kibummie, since you'll be working closely with him." Minseok cranes his neck to check if Kibum's within an earshot, then takes a deep breath once he sees Kibum near the machines. That's a good twenty feet away or more. It helps that Kibum doesn't have the best hearing if he doesn't put his heart and mind into it. "First: he doesn't gloat about himself. He lets other people do that for him."

Sehun bites a piece off of his hard-boiled egg, a corner of his mouth twisting with every chew. "I don't know how anything can be worse than that."

"He picks up every single thing so the eye rolls?" Minseok shakes his head, slow and deliberate. "None of that, Sehun. Don't let him see you do that."

"If I fart, will he think it's because I want to scare him off?"

He puts his mug down on the table and cocks an eyebrow at Sehun. "Please don't do that."

"I'm just saying, hyung." Sehun walks over and hands Minseok one egg, still unpeeled. He's quick to get table napkins, too. One thing about Sehun that most people overlook – the fact that for all of the snark and the snide remarks, he's actually an absolute sweetheart. "Well, it's not as if he's a bad guy. Pretty sure he's okay. I mean, _you keep him around._ "

"He's just weird sometimes," Minseok answers. Sehun snorts in response. "I mean, all of my friends are weird."

Sehun does a curtsy and pours Minseok more coffee. "Thank you, hyung. I think you're weird, too."

If, by 'weird', Sehun means 'interesting', then Minseok's glad to say Sehun isn't the only one who thinks that. Kyungsoo shares the same impression of Minseok, although Minseok isn't sure how Kyungsoo was able to form that conclusion. He won't doubt Sehun's words – he's worked with Sehun for years. He's held back Sehun's bangs when Sehun threw up after drinking too much and has seen Sehun undergo too many hair color changes that he couldn't count them with his fingers and toes anymore. And Sehun has seen him get into and out of a slump, both involving extended sessions in the yoga room. He hadn't forgotten to take breaks because spending too much time in the hot rooms were a health hazard, after all, and if he ever caught himself getting carried away, it would be because he was running through a routine in his head, imagining spreading his arms wide and hopping from one place to another.

It would be because he's dancing in his head, and only there. He'd never allow his eyes to catch sight of his reflection on the mirror moving the way he used to. He's not allowed that leisure. He has no right to enjoy that, not yet.

"On a scale of one to ten, though, who's weirder – me or Jongdae?"

Sehun frowns. "Hyung, he's our boss. We can't call him weird."

 _He's here,_ Minseok mouths to Sehun, and Sehun quickly slips out of the pantry to look for KIbum.

"Someone's in a good mood at an early hour," comes Jongdae's greeting – a real one now, instead of the casual narration he'd slipped earlier. Jongdae inches closer, his mug cradled in his hand. He slips right beside Minseok, nudging Minseok in his side with his elbow. "The past few weeks, actually. You've been…"

"Looking younger?" Minseok takes a sip of his coffee. Sehun's timing has always been good when it comes to refilling his cup – he was running close to the bottom earlier. "The shit Nature Republic says is actually true, then. I was pretty skeptical when they said their moisturizer for men is the best in the market–"

"I called your landline last night, hyung. Wanted to ask you about the parcel Joonmyun-hyung sent me." Jongdae rubs the tip of his nose. "Nobody answered."

Minseok gulps hard. His throat feels oddly dry, but he likes to drink his coffee as slowly as possible, taking his sweet time to enjoy the brown liquid. "I knew I was forgetting something."

Jongdae snorts. It's not a good snort – this one makes Jongdae sound like he doubts Minseok, and that he has every right to. It's true, though – Minseok must have forgotten something last night. He forgot he's in late thirties and that he shouldn't be hanging out along the Han with other thirty-somethings. He forgot to not eat too much juk. He forgot, more than anything else, to bring gloves. Good thing Kyungsoo was generous and let him share the warm space in his pocket.

Good thing Kyungsoo's fingers were warm; his smile, even more.

"And then there's this Kibum person all of a sudden–" Jongdae laughs this time, like he can't believe himself anymore. It makes Minseok's insides turn and lodges something at his throat. His inhale is sharp but choked. If Jongdae ever notices, he doesn't bring it up. Instead, he keeps his eyes on his feet, head titled just a little so that Minseok can catch a glimpse of his face. "I didn't even know you made friends outside your tiny circle, hyung. To think that my family actually raised you and I was actually supposed to… be your brother or something–"

"I'm sorry for not telling you everything," Minseok mumbles. He lays his mug down on the table, careful not to shake the cup too much. There's hardly anything there anymore and he can finish everything in one gulp, but he's never been good at finishing things. He eyes the dark liquid with interest and squints when he sees his reflection in it. "I'm sorry for not telling you about _this Kibum person_ who's actually just a friend," he continues, moving closer to where Jongdae is. Jongdae cocks an eyebrow at him, and he tries hard not to cackle at the look Jongdae is giving him. The tension in his throat eases at the tickling sensation crawling up its walls. "Jesus, Jongdae, Kibum's the _last_ person I'd think of getting together with. Besides, he's spent the past five years trying to woo Sunyoung–"

"Sunyoung. The… the girl taking care of Minyoungie?"

Minseok nods, then grins. "He doesn't really have to, though. The only thing Sunyoung's waiting for is… for Kibum to say it."

Jongdae scoffs. "Okay, now I know why you're friends."

Minseok cocks an eyebrow at Jongdae. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jongdae shifts in his seat, then turns to his side so that he's facing Minseok. "It means," he begins, then pinches Minseok in his side. It packs enough force to make Minseok wince in pain, enough to make Minseok forget about his coffee and focus on Jongdae and nobody else. "It means that you're not slow; you just pretend to be slow. And that you'll sit in at Kibum's class later because try as you may, you can't stay away from dancing."

Minseok grumbles, lips pressed together in a tight frown. "You already planted the seed. If I turn up, it's because of you."

"And if you don't, it's because you want to prove me wrong." Jongdae chuckles. "C'mon, hyung, I need a bit of a challenge here! This can't be too easy! I need a mystery to solve!"

 _Then solve mine,_ he wants to say, but he isn't the type to willingly offer his troubles just so people could find a new thrill in their lives. His shit is his to figure out and his to fix. He shouldn't be bothering people with his troubles. There are certain things in his life that he'd like to keep to himself – what keeps him up at night, what makes him get up in the morning. What freaks him out in the dead of the night even if he's always been fond of darkness, and what scares him just as much in broad daylight. The way watching Sehun dance Zumba, with all his weird facial expressions and all, makes him miss moving the same way. The way Kyungsoo can drag him into some stupid victory dance and the way he doesn't put up a fight.

"You're crazy," Minseok mumbles, instead, and ruffles Jongdae's hair. Later, he'll tell Jongdae that he has to leave early tomorrow to make it to Minyoung's exhibit, but he'll never tell him about Kyungsoo. He'd like to keep some secrets to himself – the truth about Kyungsoo is the best-kept secret of all.

☄

Minseok likes to think he's entitled to a few episodes of memory lapse. He knows his daily schedule like the back of his hand, but interruptions to his routine in the form of Do Kyungsoo still catch him off-guard. It's been a close to two months now and he thinks, he really thinks, he's got the timing down by this time, but short messages from Kyungsoo still jump out at him and make his breath hitch. _Hyung, about the favor, it's okay if you don't want to but if you change your mind–_ Kyungsoo cut it off there, and it took Minseok a few good seconds to realize that there was nothing coming. If he wanted to find out the rest, he'd have to weed it out of Kyungsoo, extract water from stone.

 _Sehun used to do ballet. He has a class tomorrow at noon. Maybe you'd want to watch?_ he texts, then, and stretches his legs in front of him in the staff pantry.

 _Can't. Ingress tomorrow,_ Kyungsoo says. Right, how could he forget? He'd walked up to Jongdae earlier and told him about tomorrow's exhibit at Lucky. Jongdae gripped him tight by the arm and said, in his voice dripping of hero-worship, _I'm so proud of you._ He drums his fingers on the table, wincing when his nails scratch the surface. If Kibum was here, he'd probably be kicking Minseok under the table already.

 _He's guiding Kibummie today before he finally goes on leave,_ Minseok types after a while. Not that Kyungsoo needs to know, but he knows better than to leave out details. _But it's a late night session, 8pm. Do you have time?_

 _You'll regret this,_ he tells himself as soon as he hits 'send'. _You'll regret it even more if you don't,_ a voice in his mind answers.

So it doesn't come as a surprise when Kyungsoo shows up at the doorstep of the gym at 7:30, a bottle of Gatorade tucked in his arms. He waves at Minseok with his free hand, then offers Kibum a wry smile when they make eye contact. He greets Minseok with a curt smile, doesn't say anything until Kibum slides between them and slings an arm over Kyungsoo's shoulder.

"I came here for him, not for you," Kyungsoo mumbles, quick and sharp. Kibum growls at him. The smile on his lips – a small upward tug at the corners – is unrelenting.

"I shouldn't have let you two meet–" Kibum bumps arms into Kyungsoo's, and Kyungsoo retaliates by gripping Kibum by the wrist. "–and let you two become friends–"

"We'd have met, anyway," Kyungsoo answers, then traps Kibum in a headlock. Minseok takes a deep, shaky breath. He can't say he doesn't agree.

Kyungsoo becomes quiet company as they shuffle to the back of the dance room. His eyes wander, though, and it takes a nudge from Minseok to snap Kyungsoo out of his trance and to throw him a look. His eyes are wide; his lips just parted in a small 'o'. "Hyung?" he says, voice barely above a whisper. Minseok rests a hand on the small of his back and guides him to a corner of the room.

Minseok leans in, and Kyungsoo tilts his head as in invitation. "We'll get a better view here," he whispers in Kyungsoo's ear, then leans back against the wall. "Unless you want to get front-row seats. I can get us tickets."

Kyungsoo cocks an eyebrow and a corner of his mouth quirks up. "Oh? Can you do that with real tickets, too?"

Minseok chuckles and pinches Kyungsoo in his side. "I can try."

The first quarter of the session is when Kyungsoo is most focused. His eyebrows furrow as soon as the music starts. The tight press of his lips against each other turns into an amused smirk when Sehun starts moving and Kibum marches in place, matching Sehun's moves. This is a new routine, Minseok notes – if he's ever heard or seen Sehun do this before, he hasn't paid enough attention. It's not as if he stays long enough to watch Sehun carry out an entire routine. His best record is ten minutes; his worst, just two.

"I was hoping to paint ballet, but I guess beggars can't be choosers," Kyungsoo whispers when the music dies down a little. Kibum doesn't catch it, doesn't lose concentration, eyes still focused on his reflection on the mirror. If he's ever lost, it's in the moment, in the heavy beats of their Zumba music. He's swaying his hips as Sehun runs the participants through the next eight counts. "Just curious: did you ever–"

"No."

Kyungsoo shrugs. "Shame. You probably would've looked good in those–"

He nudges Kyungsoo in his side, elbow pressing down on Kyungsoo's flesh harder. Kyungsoo doesn't wince, though; he's chuckling, _giggling,_ like he's actually enjoying the pain. The light vibrations send a familiar sizzle of heat down Minseok's abdomen. "Tight suits? I wear those during yoga."

Kyungsoo shifts in his position and moves closer. Their knees bump, and Minseok seethes at the jolt of electricity that courses through his thigh. It numbs him for a moment – one, two, three seconds – and then Kyungsoo's leaning in, leaning closer. The music grows louder and Minseok isn't quite sure if it's just the beat of the dance that's getting to him or if his pulse is beating strongly in his palms, his thumbs, his neck. If there's loud thumping in his chest that is from this music – Kyungsoo's even breathing and the languid movement of his tongue swiping on his bottom lip, the steady tapping of Kyungsoo's fingers on the floor. Minseok's uneven breathing and the light chatter of his teeth.

"I keep forgetting," Kyungsoo whispers, pausing to suck in his lower lip when Minseok licks the corners of his mouth. "That you teach yoga."

Minseok tries to chuckle, but what comes out instead is a strained, choked sound. "Funny, because that's my job."

"You're more than that, though." Kyungsoo moves his fingers, makes them dance and cut the distance between the two of them, stopping only when Kyungsoo's hand is already cupping Minseok's knee. "You're… you're not just a yoga instructor."

"What am I, then?" It's a stupid question, Minseok tells himself, because he knows who he is. He's Kim Minseok, a yoga instructor who still needs to learn too many lessons in life. Someone who appreciates art and knows the technicalities of it. He's Kim Minseok, the kid who once dreamed to be a dancer until he grew up and never grew out of the accident that killed his parents. The kid who grew up too fast but never learned his lesson. _Shame on you, Minseok,_ he tells himself.

"Who am I to you," he asks when Kyungsoo doesn't answer.

Kyungsoo's response is wide eyes, a light upward tug of the lip, and laughter bubbling at his plump red lips.

"You're an interesting person, hyung. You're my friend." Kyungsoo rubs circles on Minseok's knee and really, Minseok never knew he was ticklish here, but it's not as if he knows himself inside and out. It's a dark and creepy place, the deepest recesses of his mind, and he taps out at the first sign of falling deep into it. He knows that there's no escaping the dark fortress, so he attempts to escape even before he can go deeper. He lets Jongdae open his eyes to things about himself because Jongdae never lies. If he ever does, it's for Minseok's own good.

"And you're funny." Kyungsoo chuckles. His hot breath catches on the tip of Minseok's nose and only then does he realize how close they are, how the foot-long distance between them earlier has been narrowed to this, just a split second decision keeping them apart. He can lean in if he wants to, or he can lean back, but he doesn't know what he wants yet. He doesn't know what Kyungsoo wants or needs or what he's looking for. So he stays still even as Kyungsoo snakes his hand up, cold fingers sliding up his thigh. "Very cute and funny."

Minseok's breath hitches when Kyungsoo's thumb grazes his inner thigh. "Is this payback for calling you cute before?"

"You remembered?" Kyungsoo laughs a little. It isn't dry this time. Minseok's the only one with a dry throat betrayed by the rough clenching of its muscles and it _stings_ , because there are things he's supposed to say but can't. They're all there, lodged at his throat, and they can crawl up its walls and spill from his tongue if he tries hard enough, but– "That was weeks ago."

"I'm not that old to forget things easily, you know," Minseok retorts. He narrows his eyes at Kyungsoo, hoping to break the spell, but Kyungsoo doesn't break away just yet.

"I don't think you ever forget things," Kyungsoo whispers. He looks around, and only then does Minseok remember that they're in public, that there are at least twenty other people around them who can see them through the reflection on the glass. That Kibum's here, and Kibum knows them both, and Kibum knows what _this_ looks like – Minseok's bottom lip trapped between his teeth, Kyungsoo's hand stroking Minseok's thigh. That he shouldn't be thinking of finishing kissing Kyungsoo because that's not what friends do. "You just tell people that you do to save them the trouble of having to save face."

Minseok takes a leap of faith and brushes his knuckles lightly against Kyungsoo's cheek. "You're so wise, little one. Sometimes, I forget that you're much younger than me."

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. "Three years isn't a big gap, hyung." The same way that these three inches between their lips aren't safe enough a distance. The same way that Minseok can still feel the heat of Kyungsoo's skin even with their knees no longer touching. "I know people your age who think like kids."

Minseok snorts. "Tell me about it."

"Some other time," Kyungsoo whispers. He tilts his head a little, in Kibum's direction. "Can you get us tickets to the front, hyung?"

"Don't push it," Minseok replies, too sharp and too quick. The light jut of Kyungsoo's bottom lip catches him off guard. "We have to do it as quietly as possible or else Sehun will kick us out."

The corners of Kyungsoo's mouth tug up in response, and then he's wrapping his fingers around Minseok's wrist, pulling him up. He lets Minseok lead, though, lets Minseok show him the best path to take to get to the front. They look like kids placing Marco-Polo Freeze, trying not to make any noise so that the "it" won't be able to find them. They _feel_ like kids and shit, Minseok thinks – he likes this. He hasn't felt like this in a while, living so dangerously with the risk of having Sehun and Kibum harp at him about this encounter. He likes the way Kyungsoo's warmth seeps into his skin and tickles him, makes him shiver, summons the softest, faintest laughter from him. The loudest, most violent thumping in his chest.

"Sit," Minseok whispers, lips grazing Kyungsoo's ear just lightly when they finally sit at a corner in front. Kibum only risks a glance at them but Minseok catches that small, traitorous smile. He catches the sharp intake of breath from Kyungsoo, too, and the way the corners of his lips curl up when Sehun's dancing picks up pace and he gets this game face on. He catches, without meaning to, the pads of Kyungsoo's fingers, and doesn't pull away when Kyungsoo inches closer and shields their intertwined fingers from everyone's view.

He catches himself gasping when Kyungsoo says, with lips pressed to the back of his ear, "Best seats in the house." He doesn't have to look to his side to know that Kyungsoo is grinning. He felt it earlier, the slow-forming smile on Kyungsoo's lips against his skin.

He swallows hard and keeps his eyes on the dance, doesn't think of anything else. He keeps a hand on his chest to keep his heart in check, as well.

☄

The rule when going to exhibits is to come an hour after the opening. The catering hype would have died down by then, and those interested enough for a chat will still be there. He's discovered Kibum's affinity for weird, seemingly abstract paintings this way, after Kibum went on to elaborate on a particular painting of JJ Zamoranos after too much wine. He's seen Joonmyun establish connections and make friends this way, too. The person who designed the cover for EXO's Christmas single? That was done by a freelancer. The choreography was by someone they met at a performance art show. This person right beside Minseok, tugging at his shirt sleeve now to pull him closer – he found this guy through the same manner, too. It's just that he's never kept these random connections too close before Kyungsoo happened.

"You said we're having dinner," Minseok mumbles. "But now you're dragging me to–"

"It'll be fun," Kyungsoo whispers. The smile on his lips is bright, blinding. His lips are as red as his ears. "If it isn't, I'll just make it up to you."

It's the promise that lures Minseok in but the actual show that keeps him glued to his seat. He'd like to think of the performance as a depiction of political struggle, but he can't be too sure. There are too many elements in this one – a character that's 90% black cloth and 10% feet, and then another that looks something ripped off of Miyazaki's Spirited Away. The music takes Minseok to a different world, though, something that doesn't _feel_ anything like the human world they live in. It's ominous. It makes the hair on his nape stand. It makes Kyungsoo's body jerk – just a tiny jerk, and then the light shuffle of his feet – and makes Kyungsoo pull at his shirt sleeve again.

"If this gets ripped, you're getting me a new one." The comment slips from Minseok's so casually that it almost startles him, makes him tear his eyes that are glued to the show unfolding in front of him away from the spectacle to look at Kyungsoo in the eye. Kyungsoo seems to get it, the trance Minseok is in, and doesn't tug again, simply moves closer until they're thigh to thigh, arm to arm. The warm press of their bodies lends a bit of comfort and sends Minseok spiraling back home. It's not a smooth trip – it feels like plummeting back to the ground because shit, the main dancer just took off his top and his fellow dancers are pouring buckets of paint all over his body and he's _dancing._

"Wow," Kyungsoo mutters. Minseok almost jumps when Kyungsoo starts slipping his fingers inside the sleeves, but Kyungsoo's in too deep a trance to even notice. His eyes are fixed on the dancer, on every twist of his torso, every pop of his shoulders and sway of his hips. And he's smiling. There's a small smile at the corners of his lips and Minseok wants to punch it off his face, wants to grab Kyungsoo's cheeks and whisper to him, again and again, like a prayer – _don't look at him that way, don't look at him, just look at me–_

" _Wow,_ " Kyungsoo whispers this time, so soft that he could be breathing. He gulps hard and Minseok feels something lodge itself in his throat, a thick lump of _something_ he can't swallow down. "Holy shit, he's good."

Minseok snorts. "Not bad. He has to keep his eyes open, though." The dancer runs from one end of the stage to the other and pushes himself off the floor halfway through, legs spreading wide as he leaps. It's _beautiful,_ there's no denying it, and there's definitely nothing that could ruin the performance. This man is attuned with his craft. He's one with the music and his limbs know this beat more than his mind does. He's _dancing,_ and he _is_ dancing. Minseok almost shivers when the man finally opens his eyes and cuts him wide open with that vacant stare.

"He's got them open, now."

"He's good," Minseok mumbles, doesn't admit that this dancer is _amazing._ The dancer spreads his arms wide, makes his chest pop out, then tucks it back in. His fingers are still moving in tiny ripples and _he's moving Minseok,_ and– "He should be careful where he steps. He might fall."

Kyungsoo exhales loud enough for Minseok to hear. "Joonmyun-hyung's right. You're anal about these things." He worries his bottom lip then turns to look at Minseok, finally, finally, _finally_ meeting him in the eye. "If you hate it so much then why don't _you_ do the dance, yourself?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "I didn't say I hate it–"

"You didn't have to, hyung. Knit eyebrows, that really ugly frown–" Kyungsoo chuckles. "You're painfully obvious."

Minseok parts his lips, hoping to argue, but words leave him just as soon as Kyungsoo's lips quirk up into a smirk. Kyungsoo wraps his fingers around Minseok's wrist, and only then does he remember that Kyungsoo has invaded the inside of his shirt sleeves with his tiny fingers. His thumb is cold; the rest of his fingers, not so much. It's a strange mix and Kyungsoo _is_ strange. And Minseok's friends are supposed to be strange and weird and interesting. Minseok hasn't met anyone like Kyungsoo who can cut himself up into pieces and choose to show only _this_ lukewarm side of him.

Or maybe Kyungsoo's all warm and he's the one who has turned cold. He can't tell, not right now, not in the cold air of autumn. Not with this show unfolding in front of him. He looks away but has some trouble committing to it, sneaking a glance before he can turn his head the other way. "You're paying for dinner. You can't say no."

"No."

"Are you testing me?"

Kyungsoo slips his hand down, warm fingers covering Minseok's own. " _No,_ " he answers, still smiling. "But I _will_ tell you to stop being an asshole and just enjoy the show."

Scratch weird and interesting. Kyungsoo is on an entirely different league of his own. Minseok offers a wry smile in response but doesn't brush Kyungsoo off.

He stays silent for the rest of the performance, dropping a comment only when Kyungsoo mumbles something almost incoherent. He watches the main dancer's every movement, every shift of his muscle, every twist and turn and hop and skip and even the way his face contorts in accord with the song he's dancing to. He swallows hard when the dancer spins on one foot, head facing the ceiling, eyes half-mast and searching for something. He balls his hands into fists as the dancer's lips quiver.

He holds his breath when the dancer falls on his knees and curls up on the floor, too many shades of red in the midst of the smidgen of every color possible on the canvas he's on. He holds his breath and wonders what red would look like on _his_ skin, on the pads of his fingers, tracing the narrow grooves on his thumb and leaving a mark on everything he touches.

☄

It doesn't surprise Minseok that Kyungsoo has a lot of things to say about the performance. "I loved the choreography, hated the actual output. It's like they made an excuse to use the dancers and that's it – the performance lost its meaning when the final artwork was shown," Kyungsoo grumbles when they stand from their seats. Minseok nods, agreeing wholeheartedly, and notes the hint of a smile at a corner of Kyungsoo's mouth. It's misplaced. It's not at if he's spent a lot of time studying Kyungsoo's lips.

"Oh, that's one of the dancers. He's the…" Minseok squints, leaning closer, then catches the thin red line across the dancer's cheek. "He's the main. Guy on the floor. The one who curled up and looked like he was a newborn kid without a mom."

"I thought you weren't paying attention," Kyungsoo teases. He presses closer, though, hand rested on Minseok's hip. "He looks taller up close."

"Looks taller when he isn't hunching his shoulders," Minseok adds. He tilts his head a little when the dancer looks to his left, then to his right, a light groove surfacing between his eyebrows. "Looks a lot like a lost kid, too."

Kyungsoo snorts. "Think we should help him?"

"I never pegged you as the type who'd willingly offer help," Minseok admits. Kyungsoo socks him in the gut, completely rid of all pretense, but he's smiling that big, bright, wide-eyed smile of his. He looks three years younger and Minseok feels three years too early to give in. He takes a deep breath, then holds Kyungsoo by the wrist. "C'mon. You look so unsettled. Let's help the little kid so you can talk to him about the performance."

"The dance," Kyungsoo reiterates, drawling the last few syllables. Minseok gulps hard at the last note that rings in his ears. "Planning to ask him about it?"

You never talk about dancing, Minseok wants to say. You show people how it's done. You spread your arms wide and tilt your chin up and fuel yourself with anything, anything that drives you and keeps your legs sturdy even when you're standing on tiptoe. The cheers of the people around you, the expectant faces, the big smiles and the flash of the cameras – Minseok lived on these when he was in elementary, got drunk and high on it when he was in high school. He learned to hate the flashing lights just before graduating because _Mr. Kim, is it true that your family got into the crash while trying to rush to your performance? Is it true that you–_

"Hyung," comes Kyungsoo's voice, steady, unwavering. Minseok resurfaces, taking a deep breath as he turns to Kyungsoo with lips pressed tightly together. "Stop doing that. I can't lose you."

"You won't lose me." _You're holding onto me. You haven't let go of my hand._ "Come on, let's help the kid. I'll do the intro and you take care of the rest."

Kyungsoo nods, the corners of his mouth that were once pulled down easing into an easy smile. He hiccups. "I'll… need your help," he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. "I'm not good at this."

It doesn't show, though, when they finally take a step closer to approach the dancer. The dancer is apprehensive at first, doubt written in the way he furrows his eyebrows. But there's relief, too, in the shy twist of his mouth because he _is_ lost. "I took too long to pee and my group went, uh, poof or something," he says, words stumbling on each other.

The dancer worries his bottom lip and Kyungsoo's eyes twitch. It's too small a movement that if Minseok so much as looked away for a second, gave in to the allure of the slow movement of Kyungsoo's lips as he introduced himself to the dancer, he'd have missed it. But he still has his eyes glued on his Kyungsoo and his mind _in this conversation,_ looking for a way to bring himself back and get his head in the situation instead of being trapped in his own little world.

"We can show you the way out," Minseok says after a while, mustering a smile. He takes two steps forward, and then another. He catches the dancer's gaze – the way it falls on his shoulders, tracing the curve of his body, then settling on his feet. "To the exit at front, at least. The artist exit is blocked from here. It's supposed to be around that arc–"

"You… dance?" the dancer asks. He looks up at Minseok and Minseok's breath hitches. He can see himself there, smack in the middle of the kid's irises. The kid is looking down at him and smiling and– "I'm sorry, that probably sounded weird. I mean, the way you–" The dancer shakes his shoulders. "Move. Like that. It's subtle but it's there. I just know it. I can see it. I've trained for years and… yeah."

 _Your training has paid off, kid,_ Minseok wants to say. Instead, he chuckles. "Before. Years ago. When I was much younger than you." He extends a hand in the dancer's direction. "Kim Minseok. If you're… looking at being a choreographer or anything, I might be able to hook you up with some contacts."

Beside him, Kyungsoo laughs a little. The dancer stares at him with wide eyes. "I signed a contract with this show but, uh–" He chuckles. "Kim Jongin. Such a pleasure to meet you. You're… You should dance again!" Jongin takes a deep breath, the shy smile that once pulled up at the corners of his lips _just a little_ tugging up at them all the way now. "Minseok-hyung – is it okay if I call you that?"

He laughs – short hiccups that bloom into something bigger, shriller, brighter. Minseok laughs until he can't feel his cheeks anymore. He laughs because there's nothing else to call him, really, and because this was him two decades ago. He was Kim Jongin when he was in middle school, except smaller. Pocket-sized, as Jongdae once put it. He wore the same brand of confidence, the same thirst for meeting people and establishing connections with them, _dancing_ with them.

 _Don't fly too high, kid,_ he wants to tell Jongin. _Don't fly too far. Stay close to the ground–_

"He has a calling card," Kyungsoo adds. He takes out his wallet, hands Jongin the card Minseok had given him the day they saw each other in Kibum's exhibit. He takes it back halfway through, though, and pulls out a thin marker from his pocket. He crosses off one item there. It's impossible to see when Kyungsoo's shielding the card from everyone's view with his free hand, and it's a quick enough doodle that doesn't give Minseok time to crane his neck for a peek. "He's busy most weekends. He's a… pretty important person."

Minseok inches closer to Kyungsoo until they're pressed together, arm to arm, knuckles digging into each other's skin. "Casual reminder that you're not my manager."

"Casual reminder that he was waiting for you to give him your contact number." Kyungsoo turns to Jongin with a small smile and shakes his outstretched hand. "I just made things easier."

But easy doesn't always result to something good. Easy isn't memorable. Easy isn't _remarkable._ Easy isn't what has gotten Minseok to the peak of his dancing stint; it was what sent him crashing down all at once.

But it's the way he and Kyungsoo met – a completely unassuming conversation in a restaurant about a fucked up dance routine. Bumping into each other in a friend's exhibit. Kyungsoo asking for Minseok's help to pose for his new painting. Minseok not giving in, but not declining altogether, either.

"Oh, here's mine," Jongin says, then, when Minseok turns to him with a tight-lipped smile, then hands him his own card with two hands. Minseok accepts the card and runs a thumb along the writing on the board. Jongin excuses himself to catch up with his groupmates, and Kyungsoo rests a hand on the small of Minseok's back as Minseok studies the characters on the card.

He turns it over and laughs a little. Jongin's thumb mark in a bright shade of red glares at him, grins at him.

☄

The first thing that registers in his mind when he gets home is the comfort his bed brings; the second, that it's only eleven in the evening. It's hardly even his normal idea of 'nighttime'.

He turns over to lie on his back, a dot of light flashing on his phone. Blue means a text message or maybe an email from Joonmyun; green can mean anything. One quick glance and two beeps, and then he's picking up his phone, unlocking it, keying in a code. It's been becoming increasingly easier to move his thumbs on his screen, type up a message, send a text. He can even do it with his eyes closed now. It's a normal skill for some people, but for someone who loathes doing anything on his phone save for watching videos and blasting music while cleaning, it's a feat.

For the most part, it's the fact that his thumbs don't ache as much anymore when he has to text out in the open, with the cool autumn wind blowing against his face. It takes three days to form a habit, they say. It takes a leap of faith to even think of forming one, Minseok thinks.

 _Forgot to get another card from you, hyung,_ Kyungsoo says on KKT. No punctuations, so this could mean two things – either he still has something to say or he's already sleepy. It's only eleven in the evening; it's too early for both of them to be in their respective houses and not walking along some body of water. _Can I get one from you tomorrow? At the exhibit?_

 _Not my fault,_ Minseok types. He taps his thumb on the screen, the light scratch of his nail against the surface making him wince. _What did you cross off by the way? I mean, why didn't you just give him the card?_

The real question is _why didn't you let me come around and give my number to him, instead?_ It's the exact statement that's been bubbling on his lips from when Kyungsoo took the tiny cardboard from his wallet and handed it to Jongin. It doesn't make sense – Kyungsoo could've nudged Minseok, could've stepped on his foot. Could have called him out out in the open and said, with a teasing grin, "Hyung, you're making him wait. It's not nice." Kyungsoo has a habit of snapping him back to reality in an instant, and getting him into a trance the next. Surely, Kyungsoo's capable of something as simple as that.

 _Your mobile number,_ Kyungsoo answers, curt and honest. _Your email and landline are still there._ A sticker of some white blob doing a peace sign, and then a retraction – _I meant to send you the poop sticker, sorry._ Minseok stares at his screen for a few good seconds, until the screen fades to black. Here, lying flat on his back, eyes reflected in the dark screen of his phone, he can see himself clearly. He can see the small smile on his lips, that small, traitorous smile that's tugging up at the corners of his mouth. And he's grinning. He's grinning at his own reflection and Jongdae's right – he's weird. He has weird friends. The friendship he has with them, even weirder.

He presses the home button of his phone and Kyungsoo's poop sticker greets him. Kyungsoo means, _Well, that was a shitty answer. Come here, I'll drag you into this mess and figuratively dump shit on you. I'm doing this out of love, hyung._ Minseok sends a sticker of a confused little duck. He's pretty sure it's the best sticker to capture his current state.

 _We're not doing a sticker war, hyung,_ Kyungsoo retorts, then sends a 'get ready' sticker. Minseok rolls flat on his stomach and buries his face in his pillows.

Bad decision, he tells himself when he feels the pillow case mimic the movement of his lips, the slow-forming smile, the grin.

He looks up and sends an angry bear sticker in response. If this is war, then he's already lost a limb. If this is a dance, then, Kyungsoo's right in front of him, staring at him straight in the eye, saying, "Will you take the leap, hyung? Will you take my hand?"

_Dance with me?_

☄

Minseok wouldn't say he's anti-social – it's just that he tries to avoid social situations as much as possible. He's fine with dealing with a huge group of people in a class, but leave him in the middle of a crowd, people he doesn't know and probably won't see again in the next two, three months, and he gets a bit of a panic attack. The air is thick and the lights are blinding and they won't stop flashing, and the photographers won't stop clicking their damned shutters and Minseok can't see through the lights anymore even if he squints.

"Careful," comes a familiar voice, then someone's pulling him to the side. The touch is comfortable enough that Minseok doesn't even think of shaking it off. He knows these fingers, the hot and cold touch. It can only be Kyungsoo. "You wouldn't want to get caught in the camera crossfire."

"Thanks," Minseok mumbles, then gives Kyungsoo a once-over. "You're… You look great."

'Great' is an understatement – Kyungsoo looks stunning. In slacks and dress shoes, his legs look a bit longer. He looks taller, more confident when he tilts his chin up and gives Minseok one of his careful, assessing stares. He's wearing a lilac polo – not a color Minseok would normally wear, but it looks good on Kyungsoo. The pink dusting on his cheeks, Kyungsoo will choke it up to poor lighting and not from the fact that there are too many people around them. His hair is gelled back and Minseok can see the sharp angles of his jaw, the column of his neck that disappears behind the collar of his polo and a nice, slim tie.

This isn't Kyungsoo playing dress up anymore. This is _Do Kyungsoo,_ renowned painter and artist. This is Do Kyungsoo, the same man who said that _the dance really sucked, it looked so half-assed_ the day Minseok met him in a Greek restaurant in Insadong. This _is_ Do Kyungsoo, the same man who asked Minseok to pose for him in his next painting, asked Minseok to dance for him.

"Thanks," Kyungsoo says, voice dropping to a whisper. He looks around for an audience before slipping his hand further south, from Minseok's wrist to the back of his hand. The pads of his fingers are cold as he slips them between the webs of Minseok's own. Minseok's breath hitches. Kyungsoo just doesn't want to get lost, that's all. "You're not so bad, yourself."

Feeling more confident, he nudges Kyungsoo in his side. "Wouldn't hurt to say, _hyung, you look dashing–_ "

"Out of this world," Kyungsoo finishes. There's a small smile on his lips, so faint that Minseok would have probably missed it if he didn't know every quirk of Kyungsoo's mouth, the wicked contours of his body. Light still shines on this part of the hall but doesn't quite reach them, simply casts a warm glow on Kyungsoo and _wow_. Wow, Minseok thinks as he traces the slow, languid movement of the corners of Kyungsoo's lips, as Kyungsoo, very slowly, grins, tight-pressed lips falling open. His bottom lip is chapped and there's a line of blood there, just a short line, probably from Kyungsoo biting on it too much. There's no catch light on Kyungsoo's eyelids, no slivers of light filtering through his eyelashes, but Minseok can still appreciate the tiny details of Kyungsoo's face, the steady rhythm of Kyungsoo's thumb rubbing circles on the back of his hand.

He can hear music now, a slow beat, each four counts apart. He can feel the shift of his muscles and the way Kyungsoo tenses when he pulls away, only to rest both hands on Kyungsoo's hips. He leans in, closer, closer, _closer,_ stopping only when he feels the heat of Kyungsoo's skin hover his own. "Lead the way."

Kyungsoo looks over his shoulder, just a light tilt of the head, then turns to look at the narrow path ahead of them. To their right, the crowd begins to thicken as the start of the ceremony draws closer. "Straight ahead," Kyungsoo whispers, then takes small steps forward – one, two, three – until they find a comfortable rhythm and find their way out of the ruckus. A few more steps and they arrive at the auditorium, bright lights greeting them yet again. This time, though, they're focused on the stage, its wooden floors. Sunyoung is acting as host, and even from this distance Minseok can make out the hint of nervousness and worry in the way her mouth hangs open in an awkward smile.

Minseok waves in her direction. Sunyoung looks up, grins, her smile finally reaching her eyes. The lights can't wash her out now.

Kyungsoo pulls him to the seat reserved for him (and beside his, Kibum's), and excuses himself. "Catch you later, hyung," he whispers, gripping Minseok by his shoulder like Minseok's planning to go somewhere and he won't let him.

Maybe he is. He can be anywhere but here now, at this very moment. In fact, he'd rather be somewhere else, but will he waste all the courage it took for him to get himself out of bed, then out of the gym just to get here? Will he waste another opportunity to act like the brother that he should be and not bail out on another awards ceremony? He's been doing the same shit for the past five, ten years; he's exhausted all excuses possible. He's tired of running away, too. It's been five years since he last saw Minyoung receive an award for being the 'most creative'. He didn't stay long enough congratulate her, though, just heard the news from Sunyoung.

If it were any other person receiving the award, it won't mean much. But everything means a lot to Minyoung. When almost everything has been taken away from you and you're given the chance to a piece of it back, you grab the opportunity. You seize every moment. And Minseok lives through the bright smile Minyoung wears whenever she goes up on stage to a receive an award, to prove everyone wrong that a person who's been traumatized by an accident _can_ still live if she really wants to.

He shifts in his seat and looks at the unoccupied seats beside his. Kibum's name glares at him in big, bright characters. He shouldn't be left alone with all these lights focused on him.

Sunyoung introduces the staff, the management, key people who have made this event possible. The volunteer teachers are on stage, too, and there's a bit of an irony here, in the way Kyungsoo carries himself. Kyungsoo looks so small, surrounded by all these tall people, but the way he tilts his head just a little, the way he wears a tight-lipped smile, wide and bright, as he faces the people and addresses applause – he looks so tall. With a presence so big, he can drown out all other people here. He has the capacity to do so, to maneuver his way into each and everyone's lives with a curt nod, a small smile, the light brush of knuckles against knuckles, and the faintest hint of his laughter. He's capable of conquering the world like this if he wanted to.

The microphone is then handed to Kyungsoo – applause from the 'students', wide grins from everyone else – and Kyungsoo draws it close to his lips to speak. "Good evening, everyone," he begins, then clears his throat. "Thank you for sparing time for us, to be with us. All of you must have been busy, so we really appreciate your attendance and your support. These kids– These students here, you don't know how much your presence means for them. So we have to make them not only understand, but also to _see_ it. Feel it with their own hands. Because when you lose one sense, the other four, five senses are kicked into overdrive."

Kyungso gulps hard, wets his lips as he licks them. Minseok takes a deep breath. "The art pieces you'll see later, those are manifestations of what they feel. An expression of what they can otherwise express in words. So I urge you to give each piece enough time and attention. I urge you to _feel_ the art and not just look at it."

Experiencing, not showing. Minseok chuckles. This sounds familiar, so familiar, in fact, that he finds himself mouthing Kyungsoo's next words.

"I urge you to do art, and make it part of your everyday life." Kyungsoo pauses again, this time to search for something, someone in the crowd. It isn't so apparent with the distance between them, but Minseok has every movement of every muscle in Kyungsoo's face memorized like the back of his hand. If there was a quiz for it, he'd be a perfect ten. "No matter what form, or however you want to do it– Make art a part of you life."

Something sour and cold crawls up Minseok's throat. He wants to throw up, throw a tantrum, walk up to the stage and say, _wish it was that easy._ But Kyungsoo has heard the 'easy' argument before and maybe he's sick of it. Maybe he's sick and tired of it the way Minseok is of constantly having to find ways on how to avoid mentions of dancing, or seeing people move about when there's music at every corner, movement waltzing around him in a thick crowd, in the gym, everywhere he looks. It's like a ghost of the past, so unforgiving that it will neither let you breathe nor catch a break.

Minseok coughs, a hand clasped over his mouth, in an effort to temper his voice. Kyungsoo presses on with his speech, and Kibum arrives five minutes before Kyungsoo comes down from the stage.

Music comes to an abrupt rise in the background, and then there's fanfare. People clapping, signifying the start of the awarding ceremonies. Minseok claps, too, in appreciation, even if the long list of awards isn't something you'd usually proud of. Most industrious, best in attendance, most patient, most kind. Most helpful and most accommodating, then most creative. Minyoung bags that again, for the second year in a row, and then another that Minseok can't remember because he's too focused on watching Minyoung climb the stairs, walk up to the stage, a big grin on her lips as she gives the head a curt nod and she's made to wear the medal.

"Hyung," comes Kibum's low voice, faint, almost inaudible. It isn't the flashing lights that catches his attention; it's Kibum's grip on his arm, an uncomfortable squeeze. "Go. Take a picture with her. She'll–"

"Have forgotten me by now," Minseok finishes. He doesn't take off the smile, though, not yet. The stretch at the corners stings, but the pain is manageable. "It's okay, I'll just take a picture of here from here–"

He catches Sunyoung's gaze and looks away. Kibum kicks him in the back of his shoes. He makes a mental note to make Kibum suffer as soon as he's done with his brotherly duties. He pushes himself up from his seat, then, and walks down the aisle, chin held up high. He tries to avoid the curious stares, but it's difficult – when you have a hundred people murmuring about you, it's hard not to look in the direction of the source, answer a question that has been up in the air for the longest time. _Didn't he appear in some show before? Isn't he that… that kid in the child version of So You Think You Can Dance?_

 _That spin-off ended years ago,_ Minseok says in his mind. It would probably feel great to say, _all the regret disappeared years ago. I'm better now. Been living some of the best months of my life._

He meets Minyoung at the foot of the stairs to the stage and whispers, "Hi, Minyoungie."

Minyoung… looks like she's feeling encumbered by the heavy medals around her neck. _Those are big plates,_ he wants to say – he's never seen medal plates this big – but he also wants to ask, _do you want me to help you with that?_ If this Minyoung is like the Minyoung he knew before, the same sister he had before the accident happened, then he's sure Minyoung will decline the offer. Minyoung will scowl, roll her eyes, look away. And then later, she'll slide up next to Minseok and ask, _uh, oppa, about that offer–_

"Oppa?" she asks. Her eyebrows are furrowed a little. "Op…pa."

It isn't the hesitation in Minyoung's voice that gets to him. It's the surprise, the sliver of shock, that tiny tremble of her eyebrows when she goes on to say, "Hello." It's a simple enough greeting that he can brush it off, but he doesn't. He hasn't seen Minyoung up close in years and yet she still know him, still recognizes him. She still calls him oppa, and Minseok still remembers how Minyoung would drawl the last syllable whenever she was asking for a favor, for more ice cream, more playing time with her favorite brother. He still remembers this smile, the toothy grin Minyoung wears when she can't contain her joy.

She takes a few steps forward, then links their fingers together. Minseok takes a deep, shaky breath, and he can feel his cheeks getting hotter, burning a bright red. His chest feels so heavy and he feels like he might choke anytime, but he still holds his breath. Keeps his eyes locked onto Minyoung's, even if Minyoung is worrying her bottom lip now and asking, with the furrow of her eyebrows, _are you alright?_

"Picture, sir?" the photographer asks, and Minseok feels a violent breath of life surge back to his lungs. There are other people to be called to the stage, other people who'll ask for _this moment_ to be recorded in a photograph forever. He turns to the photographer with a small smile and whispers, "Please, go ahead."

He pulls Minyoung close and snakes an arm around her shoulder. Minyoung leans into the touch, and Minseok tries hard to not let the smile on his lips falter. If this is the last photo he'll take with Minyoung, it has to be good. It has to be the best that it can be.

The photographer clicks the shutter release, and a quick snap pierces Minseok's ears. He doesn't wince; instead, he keeps a big grin on his lips, easy and relaxed at the corners. Minyoung pulls away, then, and bows at Minseok before launching herself onto him in a messy hug. And then it's over – Minyoung's back in her seat, a vacant look in her eyes but a shit-eating grin on her lips. She could give Minseok a run for his money for compartmentalization. She's capable of anything she wants to be.

What catches Minseok off-guard, though, isn't how the photo comes out – the lighting's great, they both look two years younger than they should. There's barely a gap between their faces and there's even a hint of Kyungsoo's gelled up hair in the background. It's the dance performance at the start of the exhibit, the spectacle that meets them right after the ribbon-cutting.

The lights turn off as soon as the ribbon is cut. There are hushed sounds of panic in the background, and Kibum's nails digging into Minseok's blazer. It isn't cold here, not with all the people around them, but the pads of Kyungsoo's fingers are cold. Kyungsoo is hanging onto him so tight that he might still feel the grip on his wrist long after Kyungsoo has let go of him. But Kyungsoo hasn't yet, not even when the venue lights up again, sudden and bright, and they're greeted by the sight of people in black all huddled to the center of the exhibit venue. Three taps of their feet and then music comes in, a hiphop beat that Minseok remembers hearing five years ago. Or even longer than that, since he hasn't made an effort to keep up with music in a while and only hears new material when Jongdae walks up to him with a recommendation. Three taps, and then the girls at the center twirl to the sides. The men run to the other side of the formation, and another group – a mix of men and women, this time – emerge from the center. Each person is wearing a different color of the rainbow, and at the center, at the very center of the formation, is a familiar face.

"Minyoung is–"

"Dancing," Minseok finishes. He exhales. Minyoung takes two steps forward, chin held up high, a smirk on her lips. "She's… front and center. She's dancing."

A half-truth, if Minseok studies the dance closer. She's _leading_ the dance, being the pivot of all the dance moves of the other 'colors' around her. She's the star of the show and she's in green from head to toe, and she's glowing. Yellow light is supposed to cast a warm light on people, supposed to soften the hard angles of their body, but the effect is different on Minyoung. It casts a harsh light on her skin, accentuating every pop of the shoulder and thump of her chest. Minyoung _outshines_ everyone in this performance and her eyes glimmer with some brand of hope Minseok hasn't seen before. And Minyoung _is_ dancing a song all too familiar that Minseok, without meaning to, finds himself humming, bobbing his head ever so slightly as the dance progresses.

"You're dancing," Kyungsoo whispers in his ear. Despite the loud beat, it isn't hard to catch. Kyungsoo's lips are pressed to the back of his ear and if he didn't catch the sound, he would've caught the movement. Minseok's good with that. "You're finally–"

He catches Minyoung's eyes and takes a deep breath. "Not me. Minyoung. She's–" He swallows hard, and he's halfway through clenching his fists when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. "Sorry, I have to take this call."

He's not even sure if it's a call, but it's a nice escape plan. It's his only way to remove himself from this situation, distance himself from something so familiar that he feels live reliving the past. _It's sick,_ and this feeling is sick, and having to run away is sick. He's past the halfway mark in his thirties and his sister is dancing in front of him and _this is it, Minseok, if you're asking for that one sign to come back home and dance again, this is it–_

"Excuse me," he mumbles as he wades through the thick crowd, one hand in his pocket and the other balled into a fist in his shirt, center of his chest. He walks as fast as he can until he passes the doors, walking past them in an attempt to look for an empty place. There's nothing here – all the corners, all the halls, every place here in Lucky has at least one person occupying it, and Minseok can't afford to be seen like this. He doesn't want to be seen like this.

He fishes his phone from his pocket, anyway, and clears his throat before answering the call. "Hello, Jongdae?"

"Hey hyung." Some static, then, "Did Joonmyun-hyung– Are you in the exhibit or something? It's okay if you are. This can wait."

He was in the exhibit and he's halfway out, but the gates of Lucky are locked. He's trapped, really, and while he can ask the guards to undo the locks and let him out, he doesn't want to leave yet. There's something he wants to return to, something he wants to _find_ again. Minyoung has it, but she's dancing right now so he can't ask for it. If he asked for his passion and the permission to dance again, maybe she'll yield. Maybe, she'll relent. He isn't sure yet. It's been too long since they've last spent more than five minutes with each other.

"It's okay. I… I needed some air, anyway." He looks around and turns at a corner. He leans against a rough wall. Winter's just around the corner. The winds are blowing harder now, slapping him in the cheeks. "What about Joonmyun?"

Jongdae exhales loudly. Minseok tries to strain his hearing but there's no noise in the background, just Jondgae's uneven breathing. "I'll message you on KKT. If– If you need anything, hyung, just let me know, okay? I'll just be in the gym."

Minseok scoffs. "I don't know what you're talking about. Just send the thing."

"Okay, okay, no need to be demanding," Jongdae grumbles. He clears his throat and coughs, maybe even sniffles. Jongdae's never been the best at dealing with the cold weather. "Thanks for picking up. Just… call if you need me."

Silence, then Minseok takes a deep breath. "I won't forget, don't worry," he says as a parting message, then ends the call.

☄

The last thing he expects to see in his messages is a picture of Joonmyun kissing Baekhyun.

The picture is grainy, for the most part, but he can make out the trace of Joonmyun's face, Baekhyun's signature smirk, the fit of their bodies. It's a backstage snap shot, possibly by a stalker stationed a few good feet away from them. A 400mm lens doesn't allow anyone to hide, and Joonmyun and Baekhyun have been caught redhanded, alright. Baekhyun has his arms wrapped around Joonmyun's waist, and Joonmyun has one hand cupping Baekhyun's cheek, the other steadying himself against the wall.

And they're kissing. This isn't an innocent brush of lips on lips. It's a slide of two mouths trying to find a better fit. In a 15-second video, Joonmyun can be seen tugging at Baekhyun's hair and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. In another video, Baekhyun was cupping Joonmyun's ass. And in another KKT thread, Jongdae is telling Joonmyun, _We saw the thing. We're here for you._

It takes Minseok ten seconds to feel his fingers again and navigate out of the chat window. He pulls up a private thread with Joonmyun and says, _You'll get through this, okay? Just know that we're here if you need us. We'll always welcome you back with open arms._

At the back of his mind, a voice is yelling, _So what now, Minseok? Wasn't Joonmyun supposed to be into girls? Are you regretting everything now, huh? Cry harder, Kim Minseok._

"Shut up," Minseok whispers. He hears a crack in his voice and _fuck_ , it makes his stomach turn. It makes him sick.

He gets the solitude he needs until his phone starts ringing – a call from Kyungsoo this time. There are a couple of unanswered messages, both texts and on KKT, but he swipes right in an instant, presses his phone to his cheek. He stays quiet, stays still, eyes closed as he listens to Kyungsoo's even breathing on the other end of the line. "Hyung, where are you?" comes Kyungsoo's voice, a low, mellow tone that snakes up Minseok's nape with every quick intake of breath. "Hyung?"

"Outside," he replies, voice barely above a whisper. "Needed to take a call. I–"

"It's been fifteen minutes, hyung." Kyungsoo mumbles something that sounds a lot like _sorry, excuse me._ He must be wading through the crowd. This must be torture for him. "The call couldn't have been that long."

Minseok scoffs. It was the longest two minutes of his life. "Had to take Jongdae through the… controls for the hot room."

"He had that built. He should know–"

"Not now, Kyungsoo. Please." He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, just a bit, and looks around. Still no one in sight. He still owns this place and his solitude hasn't been broken yet. He can keep it sacred, tell Kyungsoo to not look for him, but at the same time he wants to talk it out, ramble about the situation in the presence of someone who will listen. Kyungsoo will judge him, yes, somewhere at the back of his mind. But he'll listen. Kyungsoo's always been good at that. "I don't want to argue."

Kyungsoo hums for a while and mumbles a few more apologies, and then the noise dies down. His footsteps echo. He's probably in the hall now, on his way out. Just a little more. "Do you… Do you want me to look for you?"

"That's a weird question to ask."

"Only for someone as weird as you," Kyungsoo replies. Silence, and then, "Seriously, hyung, do you want to be found?"

It's a trick question, Minseok thinks – he's torn between the need to be with someone and the need to be alone. The need for the cold winds to numb his senses out here, and the need for someplace warm because _hyung, you have to take care of yourself. You'll get sick if you stay out here–_ Minseok shakes his head, tries to silence Joonmyun's voice in his head, but he's still there somewhere. Joonmyun won't go away so easily.

"Yeah. Sure. I'm…" He looks around again, cranes his neck. "Turn left when you reach the exit. I'm just in the area."

"Got it," Kyungsoo answers, then ends the call.

It takes five more minutes for Kyungsoo to spot him in the open field. Minseok likes to think it's deliberate because he knows Kyungsoo shares his need to withdraw from the world sometimes. He knows that Kyungsoo, more than anyone else, would know the sound of someone's voice when they're tired or need to be left alone to their own thoughts. Kyungsoo has spaced out on him on one too many occasions, and while he wants to take offense sometimes, he can't. It's like taking offense in his own shortcomings.

White noise, that's what he needs right now. That, and the steady rhythm of Kyungsoo's footsteps as he approaches. "Not freezing?" Kyungsoo asks as a greeting, and Minseok only shakes his head in response.

"Catering's good, if you were wondering," Kyungsoo says, voice softer now that he's only a few inches away. It's dark out here, but Minseok can still see the way he quirks his lips, the push and pull between a small smile and a big frown. Kyungsoo settles for a tight press of the lips. "You should eat something. And their wine's good."

"Not hungry," Minseok whispers. He laughs a little, at himself. He sounds like some teenager, lost in love. Maybe he is. "Sorry for disappearing on you like that. I hope Kibum wasn't… worrying about me."

Kyungsoo moves closer, moves to his left to lean back against the wall. They're arm to arm now, elbow to elbow, and the most subtle of contact of their bones sends jolts up Minseok's arm. It's paralyzing. It's like Kyungsoo's saying, _I gave you time to escape earlier, hyung. You leave me with no choice but to do this._ But Kyungsoo inches away just a little, enough for the fabrics of their clothes to not bunch up against each other. "You know how he is. He worries about everything," Kyungsoo mumbles. He adjusts the collar of his blazer. "He wanted to look for your five minutes after you disappeared."

"And why didn't he?" Minseok asks. He shifts in his position, leaning to his left and looking to his side. "Why didn't you?"

"If you wanted to be found, you'd say so," Kyungsoo answers. He chuckles, then rubs the tip of his nose. His ears are red now, but the pink flush has avoided his cheeks again. Always compartmentalizing, always a mystery – that's Do Kyungsoo for you. "Figured you needed time to be alone, what with… all those people there."

Minseok snorts. "I'm surprised you didn't leave sooner, to be honest."

"I'm a volunteer. Call of duty."

"So if you could, if you had a choice–" Minseok takes a deep breath at the same time that the wind blows too hard. The cool sensation shoots up his nostrils, makes his vision go hazy for a moment. "Would you have gone out earlier?"

"Don't make this about me, hyung," Kyungsoo says. He sticks his tongue out, just a little, and pinches Minseok in his stomach. Kyungsoo's fingers are cold and here they are again, out in the cold, without the proper battle gear. It's as if they're doing this on purpose, acting like kids who don't care about the cool winds and getting sick and not being able to play. Or dance, Minseok reminds himself, and muses about that one time Kyungsoo danced along the Han. The memory makes him laugh without fail because really, who could forget the look of horror on Kyungsoo's face when he almost tripped?

Minseok couldn't. Wouldn't. Kyungsoo isn't so easy to forget.

Minseok takes a deep breath, then, and confesses, "I got a call from Jongdae." He fishes his phone from his pocket, then scrolls up to the pictures. "About Joonmyun."

He hands his phone to Kyungsoo and urges him to take a peek, blow up the pictures, watch the video. Maybe Minseok was just blinded by his judgment then, blinded by his feelings for Joonmyun that he turned an innocent press of cheek against cheek into a torrid kiss. Maybe he was blinded then by all those years he's spent studying the way Joonmyun and Baekhyun move, separately and around each other, that he breathed meaning into those pictures, the videos. Baekhyun's touchy as hell, and he loves asses. It only makes sense that he'd grope Joonmyun and–

"When were these taken?" Kyungsoo asks.

The screen has turned black again. Kyungsoo's fingers are cold even when his fingers brush against Minseok's own. "Just a while ago, I think? Or yesterday? I… I don't know."

Kyungsoo exhales loudly. "You didn't want to know."

"Because I don't have to," Minseok interrupts. He flexes his fingers and chuckles, but he chokes on the sound. His throat feels dry. "Doesn't matter when they kissed or made out backstage. Doesn't matter how the did it. It doesn't–" A thick lump of laughter surges up his throat, leaves his lips in increments. The light puffs of heat tickle his skin. "What's done is done. I can't– I can't do anything about it."

"You can scream. Be mad. _React,_ " Kyungsoo offers. He pushes himself off the wall, then walks a few steps forward, until they're face to face. The tips of their shoes touch. The light screech makes Minseok wince, but for the most part what makes his breath hitch is the contrast between his warm skin and Kyungsoo running a cold finger from the column of his throat down to his chest. "Sometimes you have to say it out loud, you know, instead of keeping it all in, right here." Kyungsoo taps Minseok's chest once, twice, then splays his hand on it. "Or else you'll explode."

Minseok keeps his eyes on Kyungsoo, doesn't break the eye contact. He doesn't brush Kyungsoo off, either, even if the contrast in temperatures makes him shiver. It's a good shiver, one that breathes feeling back to his limbs, his cheeks, the tip of his nose that has been frozen by the wind. He laughs a little. "I have mental explosions from time to time. This is one of them."

"Doesn't look like it, hyung. You need something bigger. More explosive." Kyungsoo taps his thumb on Minseok's chest, a steady rhythm that Minseok finds himself breathing to. "I punch things sometimes, just to let out the anger. It always helps."

Minseok reaches over, brushing his knuckles lightly against Kyungsoo's cheek. "Does that work?"

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes but envelops Minseok's fist with his small hand. "Try harder."

It's late at night and they're in a place that isn't quite like home, and Minseok is tired. He's too tired to go back inside, wear a mask, face people with a smile. He's too tired to take this incoming call from Jongdae, and to free himself from Kyungsoo's grasp. It's late at night and while he just wants to lie in bed and rest, but he doesn't want to go back to Gangnam. Gangnam holds too many memories linked to Joonmyun, but that's what happens, doesn't it, when you form a bond so strong with someone? Every little thing becomes special. Shin Ramyun transforms from being his go-to food after a late night study session into something he remembers Joonmyun needing to eat after an exhausting exam period. Banana uyuu becomes the witness to their first indirect kiss instead of simply being Kibum's favorite think to chug down after P.E. class. Tteokbokki becomes synonymous to going out on a date instead of something Jongdae craves on a daily basis. The cold wind blowing against his face becomes a reminder that Kyungsoo's here, right in front of him, warm palm pressing down on his cold knuckles.

"I'm tired," Minseok admits. He takes a deep breath hangs his head low. "I… I don't want to go home."

There's a thick blanket of silence for a while, then Kyungsoo's shuffling his feet. This isn't something Minseok sees often, but if he squints harder he'll remember that this is Kyungsoo's way of showing uncertainty, or maybe warding off mosquitoes at a late hour. "Ilsan is far from Gangnam," Kyungsoo says, voice so faint he might as well be breathing. It isn't until Kyungsoo repeats, "Ilsan's a good hour away from Gangnam," that he processes Kyungsoo's words and looks up to meet Kyungsoo in the eye.

"How will we get there?" Minseok asks.

He worries his bottom lip in anticipation of Kyungsoo's answer, and he gets light laughter in response. "You drove to Yeouido, hyung. You can do the same to get to Ilsan."

Kyungsoo loosens his grip on Minseok's fist, and only then does Minseok pull away and take a step back. He flexes his fingers, then, twists his torso in an effort to keep himself warm. He headed out in the open only wearing two layers again and you'd think he'd know better now, but he didn't. And some people make the same stupid mistakes until they decide, with a huff, that they're done making themselves feel awful, inflicting the same pain on oneself. And he's too tired to make sound, adult decisions. So he turns to Kyungsoo, takes Kyungsoo's hand and slips his car keys in Kyungsoo's hand.

"Take me there," Minseok says in request. "Please, take me someplace else."

Kyungsoo stares at the keys on his palm, eyebrows furrowed just a little. Minseok squints, trying to make sense of it, and then the struggle written on the furrow of Kyungsoo's eyebrows is gone, disappearing into thin air as he looks back up at Minseok with a small smile. "How about heaven, hyung?"

Minseok pinches Kyungsoo in his stomach. Kyungsoo's giggles ease the knots in his chest just a little. "Nice try, kid. Nice try."

☄

The drive to Ilsan takes only a little under thirty minutes. The expressway isn't as packed anymore, and Kyungsoo drives like a motherfucker. At one point, Minseok was positive Kyungsoo was trying to match the beat of the song – they were blasting Walk the Moon at a late hour – and was trying really hard to keep himself awake. Still, Minseok can't help fear for their lives and for the welfare of his car. He's never driven this fast before. It's not that his limbs won't permit him; his past won't.

Kyungsoo takes them to Lake Park, a nice recreational place that is rife with plant life and quiet. Their footsteps echo as they walk along the stretch of the arc, navigating their way to the center. The man-made lake should be far off, but the last time Minseok was here was in the morning. Places transform once darkness falls. People do, too.

Kyungsoo takes a step to his side, tugging at Minseok's sleeve. His grip isn't tight, and his fingers almost slip from material. Blazers always make it hard for Minseok to keep people around. An air of seriousness tends to drive people away, after all. But Kyungsoo only moves close, close, closer, wrapping his fingers around Minseok's wrist.

"You'll have to walk faster if you want to get there sooner, hyung," Kyungsoo says. His words get muffled somewhere along the way, when the wind blows against their faces. Kyungsoo's got his hair gelled up, so his bangs won't fall on his eyes even with the repeated whipping of the winds. Minseok sort of misses it. "Are you– Can you still walk?"

"I'm not that old," Minseok answers. He nudges Kyungsoo in his side. "And you're not that young, either."

"My knees are shaking, if that makes you feel better."

"No, it doesn't." Minseok locks his arms behind his back, closing his eyes and stretching out. It's an effective attempt at keeping himself from looking at Kyungsoo's lips. "Who's gonna drive me back to Gangnam if your knees are already weak?"

Kyungsoo snorts. "You can always stay at my place," he says, like Minseok has just asked the most stupid question. "I live just a few blocks away. Granted, the blocks are really big, but–"

He begs to differ. _Who am I to you?_ is still the most stupid question ever. It just doesn't seem like it because Kyungsoo has this uncanny ability of coming up with good answers to useless questions. He pushes the thought to the very back of his mind, though, and tries to acquaint himself with the idea of not being home for the night. The last time he did that was back in college, Joonmyun era, limbs tangled with Joonmyun's own and nose buried in Joonmyun's hair. In the morning, Joonmyun flinched away and told Minseok, _requested_ that he not tell anyone. _Who's stupid now?_ asks a voice in Minseok's mind as he recounts the tale.

 _I am,_ he answers, earnest, repentant. He looks up at Kyungsoo and asks, "Are you sure?"

"I can sleep on the couch," Kyungsoo replies. He scratches the slope of his neck, grumbles when his nail catches on the thread of his scarf. "Unless you're the type who can't sleep without a bolster."

Minseok chuckles. "Can't be picky if you're offering," he says, then walks a few steps ahead. "Unless _you_ are the type who can't sleep without a bolster. I'm open to being hugged."

More like, _I need a hug right now, but I don't._ There's something thick and heavy in his chest that won't leave. Maybe Kyungsoo can melt that away with the warm press of their bodies, with his low, soothing voice so loud with Kyungsoo's lips pressed to the back of his ear. Maybe. It's worth a shot. 

"My bed is warm," Kyungsoo says. He licks his lips, then holds out his hand. "Hold my hand. It's pretty easy to get lost here."

What Kyungsoo means is that the open space is too vast that it's easy to get overwhelmed. They reach an area of the park facing the fountain, but Kyungsoo says, "No, not yet. I know a better place," and locks their hands together. There's a tiny of vessel of warmth between their pressed palms, but everything else feels cold – the pads of their fingers, the tip of Minseok's nose. Kyungsoo's cheeks that are painted with a pink flush and his ears that are a bright shade of red. He files this image of Kyungsoo for another day, for when the memory of Joonmyun hits him again. Joonmyun has a habit of showing up at the doorstep of his mind unannounced. Like the human counterpart, like memory, Minseok supposes. It will take more than a conscious effort to not think of Joonmyun to ward off the memories.

"Ah, here we are," Kyungsoo announces. He drops his hand to his side and Minseok looks up, looks at their once intertwined fingers and frowns at the loss of warmth. "You can scream here, if you want. No one will arrest you. Tried it before and I'm still here, without any criminal records."

Minseok looks at Kyungsoo with furrowed eyebrows. "You're a box of surprises, have I ever told you that?"

Kyungsoo digs his hands into his pants pockets, and groans when he discovers that his pants don't have any. There's a blanket of silence for a while, but it isn't thick. It doesn't leave Minseok with a choking feeling, or heaviness on his shoulders. It's light enough that it doesn't take long until Kyungsoo breaks it, hums as the wind blows. "First time hearing that from you, hyung. Not that we talk much. You… listen more than you speak."

Fair observation, Minseok thinks. He's good with stringing words together, but somehow his voice always betrays him. So he relies on his hands, relies on the written word, instead. "It's what I'm good at."

"What you're good at is making people feel comfortable and welcome." Kyungsoo gestures at the seat near them and walks in its direction. "So talk, hyung. Don't mind my face, I always look like this. Trust me when I say that I'm not judging you."

"I know you aren't," Minseok replies. He takes a seat beside Kyungsoo, inches closer for warmth. The sides of their hands touch and Minseok presses harder on that, creating more friction. He needs this right now, and he'll take whatever Kyungsoo has to offer. "This is a very long story. I… I don't even know where to start."

Kyungsoo laughs a little. "Start where it matters most. Then just explain things as you go along. I'll… try to catch up."

Minseok looks to his side and takes a deep breath, considering Kyungsoo's offer. He's only done this once before, completely sober, with Jongdae. Now there lies the difference – he's known Jongdae for a lifetime; Kyungsoo, he's only known for a few months. Jongdae knows him inside and out that he doesn't have to clear things up, doesn't have to explain who this person is and what that person has contributed to Minseok's life. He doesn't have to break everything down for Jongdae so that Jongdae won't experience information overload in the form of Minseok's life story. He doesn't have to. All he has to do is to climb onto Jongdae's bed and whisper, "I'm sad."

Telling Kyungsoo about the situation, about _this_ … It's like taking a trip down memory lane and sprinkling water on dead soil, rekindling old fire. It's like digging up memories so he can crush them in his hands, and relish the feeling of those memories piercing his skin. It sounds crazy, but Minseok is crazy. Kyungsoo is, too, and on top of that Kyungsoo _likes_ crazy as well.

"Joonmyun and I had a thing before," he begins. He scoffs. Something sour tickles his throat and _shit,_ if he doesn't get rid of this at once then he'll end up feeling sick up until the morning. "Got a little frisky sometime during junior year. It was… I don't know how to phrase it."

The last sentence leaves his lips quicker than he can think about it. Fatigue always makes him a bit more loose, a bit more relenting to the urge to just vent. It's a bad habit that he has to outgrow, but it's not as if he gets to air out his concerns often. The last time he got more than half the screen time in a conversation was when Jongdae was too drunk to even form a coherent sentence. Funny thing about it was that it was Minseok who was supposed to be drunk, not Jongdae. He was the one who'd lost a bit of hope when Joonmyun told him, hands clutched to Joonmyun's chest, that he had to focus on work, had to follow EXO around. He had to fly from one place to another because that's what managers of boybands do. He had to make sure that these kids weren't trying to get into trouble and give him more headache. He had to make sure that he'd always have Minseok to return to. As early as that time, Minseok already had doubts. He had to live his life, somehow. He had to get away from the unspoken responsibility of being around for Joonmyun all the time.

"Was it purely physical?" Kyungsoo asks now, eyebrows knit together in a furrow. There isn't much force in this and Minseok can easily reach out to smoothen the hard groove of his eyebrows, but he doesn't. He's focused on his own words, the way the question leaves Kyungsoo's mouth. The way some strands of Kyungsoo's hair get caught in the wind and muss up his gelled hair. The wind has been blowing harder than the usual for the past ten minutes so really, it's just an amount of time until the gel dissipates with the air.

If only pained healed that quickly. It requires skill. Minseok needs to work harder.

"I wouldn't… say it was purely physical? I mean…" Minseok laughs a little. "There was definitely an emotional connection. We went through a lot of things together before we started… helping each other get off, you know?" He massages his temples now, eyes closed as he pointedly avoids Kyungsoo's gaze. The wind around them gets colder and some of the leaves rustle. He laughs to himself – he never thought he'd be put in one of these telenovela situations. Things like these aren't supposed to happen in real life.

 _Surprise me,_ a voice in his mind says. Another one argues, saying, _don't be silly._

"I guess the problem lies in… the two of us never getting to define things. Just doing things without thinking, like kids." Minseok scoffs. The last syllable leaves his tongue with a bitter aftertaste. "But we're supposed to be past that already. We're not supposed to– Heck, back in college, Joonmyun– He had a girlfriend. But he respected her need to… not get that intimate yet."

"So he turned to you," Kyungsoo finishes. The frown is more visible on Kyungsoo's lips now, his bottom lip jutting out with the downward pull oh his cheeks. "And you let him."

Minseok scoffs. He meets Kyungsoo in the eye again, tilting his head to his right to get a better view of Kyungsoo. From this distance, after the drive and without Kyungsoo's shields up, he can see the make-up caking under Kyungsoo's eyes, a smidgen of something darker than the shade of the BB cream he's wearing along his cheek. He reaches out, evens out the tone, and feels Kyungsoo stiffen under his touch. Kyungsoo's cheeks are warm, but they're still flesh, not pink. He's doing that thing again, where he separates a part of himself so that he won't give himself away entirely. Minseok's beginning to get this whole compartmentalization thing. He's beginning to like it.

"I needed that."

Kyungsoo's eyebrows twitch. "Needed what?"

"To be told that I made a conscious decision to fuck myself up," he answers. He shifts in his seat, then, turning to his side to face Kyungsoo. He rests one palm on Kyungsoo's knee; the other, he rests on his own thigh. He needs to keep himself in check, somehow. He can't afford to make any more mistakes. "I mean I know that, I really do, but sometimes you need to hear someone call you out on your faults, you know what I mean? Because when they start to notice–"

"That means it's that bad already. Awful." Kyungsoo slides his fingers between the pads of Minseok's own. "And things have already gotten really ugly."

Minseok takes a deep breath, then nods. "Yeah. Exactly that." He worries his bottom lip for a while, hanging his head low, and when he looks up Kyungsoo is still looking at him, _watching_ him.

"Do you want to dance, hyung?" comes Kyungsoo's question. The statement is so sudden that Minseok almost jerks back, almost pulls away, but the cool breeze has numbed his fingers already. Kyungsoo's got his hand trapped under the weight of palm and really, he doesn't intend to escape. He's too tired to run away. "You looked really… at peace with yourself that time, while I was teaching you my victory dance."

Minseok snorts. "You looked silly then, that's the reason why I looked 'at peace with myself'." He uses air quotes for emphasis. Kyungsoo slaps his hands away, rests both of his hands atop Minseok's balled ones. His palms are warm, and Minseok likes the sizzle they send up his spine. He can get used to this. He can get drunk on this.

"Well, that, too." Kyungsoo's doing that thing with his lips where he smiles and frowns then smiles again, like he still hasn't decided how to feel just yet. It's amusing, to say the very least, the way conflict shows on Kyungsoo's features. Minseok hasn't seen anything quite like it. It's like the same beat he heard before, months ago, the day he met Kyungsoo, the same beat that was set to the cadence of Kyungsoo's voice as Kyungsoo said, without a hint of doubt, _the dance sucked._ It's the same beat he's found himself swaying to before, the same beat that kept him awake while they were walking those five big blocks from COEX to hit flat in Gangnam. The same beat that's plays in Kyungsoo's mind everytime he bobs his head and smiles to himself like he's dancing some really cute song in his mind.

It's the same beat that makes Minseok's heart skip a beat, now, as Kyungsoo says, "Look silly with me, then? It's the least you could do after making me drive your car to Ilsan."

 _It's not the same,_ Minseok wants to say. Looking silly with Kyungsoo entails giving up a part of him and giving into dancing again, risking reaching that peak then plummeting to the ground again. It's not the dance that he's afraid of, but the scratch on the disk, the dissonance in the music where he has to stop at the peak of his game because something's wrong. He doesn't want that to happen again. He was there once, up there, at the top, one of the best dancers Seoul has ever seen, and it took an accident to freeze his limbs forever. For a moment, he thought he'd be able to recover after Joonmyun promised him a bit of warmth, a future where he doesn't have to be alone, but Joonmyun left and now he's sucking face with Baekhyun. And he's seeking Minseok's help on the matter because _I'm so stupid, hyung, I shouldn't have let my guard down. I should've known better, shouldn't have given in–_

But Joonmyun's right. He did the right thing by finally admitting to himself that this is what he wants. That he wants Baekhyun and not some girl he met back in college and had an intellectual crush on. That Minseok will forever be that anchor to keep him in check, a lighthouse to guide him home. And that's it – Minseok's just a guide. He's the wind that carries Joonmyun through, the song that Joonmyun dances to. But he isn't Joonmyun's dance partner, and neither is he home.

Kyungsoo stands from his seat and extends a hand in Minseok's direction. "Dance with me, hyung?"

He stares at Kyungsoo's outstretched hand for a while. It's cold out here and he can see Kyungsoo's fingers trembling, but Kyungsoo hasn't dug his hands in his pockets yet, hasn't given up on him yet. This is Kyungsoo helping him shoot two birds with one stone, helping him get rid of his sadness and helping him to accept that dancing will always be a part of who he is. _A second skin,_ a voice in his mind says, and this time it bears more confidence than it used to. It sounds a lot like his old self, the younger Minseok, the one who wasn't afraid to fuck up. The one who was crazy enough to take risks and reach for the starts and reach out for his dance partner's hand. And this is Kyungsoo offering to be that silly dance partner, even if he isn't the best dancer. The smile on his lips are saying, _come on, hyung, it will be fun;_ the look in his eyes whisper, _take a chance again? Take a chance on me?_

"I haven't stretched yet," Minseok mumbles.

"Doesn't matter," Kyungsoo says. The smile at the corners of his mouth tug up even more.

Minseok takes a deep breath and takes a leap of faith, then reaches out to hold Kyungsoo's hand. He doesn't have to push himself off the bench, to bring himself back his feet. Kyungsoo does that for him, pulls him by the hand and pulls him up for a lazy dance. Minseok fastens his other hand on Kyungsoo's shoulder, and Kyungsoo's free hand settles on his waist. Kyungsoo hums a melody for them to dance to, just so they won't look entirely silly, and they develop an easy rhythm to move to after a while. It's so simple a melody that Minseok gets the urge to add a flourish, to make it better, but this is good, too. It's a good start, or a return. It eases him back into familiar movement, a set of actions that he's long tried to forget. So he sways, lets Kyungsoo carry him through the dance, lets himself be carried away. A second layer of beats comes in the form of the memory of Minyoung dancing, the way she led the group to an outstanding performance, the way she looked at Minseok as if saying, _Do you remember this, oppa? Do you remember when we were kids, when you'd twirl me around and laugh at me everytime I stepped on your foot?_

It's like she's saying, _Do you still remember how to dance, oppa? Because I still do. I haven't forgotten the way you move yet, and neither should you._

Minseok slides his hand down Kyungsoo's waist, then reaches for Kyungsoo's other hand. With a grin, he pulls away when their hands are already linked together, pulls Kyungsoo back in, then twirls Kyungsoo around with one hand. Surprise isn't in the way Kyungsoo's eyes widen, or the way his fingers tremble against Minseok's skin, but that isn't important anymore. There's a new set of beats to familiarize themselves with, one that sounds a lot like Kyungsoo's laughter, bright and loud, drowning out the cool breeze with its warmth.


	4. Chapter 4

Minseok hits the headboard when he stretches his arms over his head, then back. The impact isn't so hard, but there's enough force to leave a dull ache at the back of his hands. He rolls over so that he lying on his stomach, then feels around for his phone. On a normal day, he remembers to put on his bedside table or under his pillow, but sometimes his phone ends up on the floor in the morning. It's been happening more recently, what with the late nights he's been spending out along the Han, or simply away from home.

He looks up when he doesn't find a bedside table within reach, then looks to his side when he realizes where he is.

He remembers falling asleep halfway through a conversation with Kyungsoo last night. They'd freshened up already then, and Minseok had already given Jongdae a call and said that he might not be able to come in for his morning classes. _Because you don't have any,_ Jongdae had reminded him, _because it's a Friday, remember? Just– Get some rest, hyung, please?_ He'd laughed and said yes that time, then offered to take Jongdae out for lunch. He didn't do it just to end the conversation; it's phase one of his 'giving back' program, one he's started just a few hours ago, before he fell asleep on Kyungsoo's bed. He'd promised to cook for Kyungsoo, too, and it took Kyungsoo a while to relent (and give Minseok proper access to his kitchen).

"Just don't… get your hands on my espresso machine," Kyungsoo had said. He was sleepy and mostly asleep, really, but still had enough energy to repeat, "You are _not_ getting your hands on my espresso machine."

He turns to his side and leans closer, watching the steady rise and fall of Kyungsoo's chest. Kyungsoo's eyes are shut tight, but his lips are slightly parted. He's… mouthing something, unintelligible words that might mean a lot of things, but Minseok can't seem to make them out yet. It's too early to think about it too much, so instead he reaches out and tucks the stray strands of hair that have caught on Kyungsoo's lips. Kyungsoo grumbles, then shifts in his position, but sinks right back into slumber, fitful snores filling the air. Minseok chuckles – now _there's_ the pink flush on Kyungsoo's cheeks that he's long been wanting to bring out. This is Kyungsoo without any of his walls up, the same Kyungsoo who'd offered to dance with him last night and managed to convince him to do so. This is the same Kyungsoo who gave him no choice but to leave his past behind and to step into the light. This _is_ Do Kyungsoo, unguarded, a bit too willing, giggling ever so lightly when Minseok traces the curve of his face with his fingers.

"Hmmyung?" Kyungsoo mumbles, eyes half-lidded when he looks up to meet Minseok's gaze. Minseok chuckles, gives into the urge to pinch Kyungsoo's cheek. Kyungsoo groans in response. "Why are you up? It's… too early."

"I normally get up at five. Force of habit, I guess," he replies, then withdraws his hand. Kyungsoo pushes the comforter down, wiggling out of its embrace, but sinks back into the pillows as soon as the covers are off. "Any special request for breakfast?"

"Continental," Kyungoso whispers, then worries his bottom lip. He feels around for something, then reaches for Minseok's wrist as he shakes his head. "No, don't cook. We can–" He yawns, face scrunching into this cute image of a kid being denied of a peaceful slumber. Minseok wants to take Kyungsoo in his arms and just embrace him and– "Let's just grab breakfast at Hongdae. I know a nice place."

"I already told you, I won't touch your espresso machine."

Kyungsoo laughs, but the tone gets choked somewhere. Minseok gives in yet again, this time to the urge to pinch Kyungsoo's nose. Kyungsoo's awake enough, but he probably isn't as violent as he usually is before he's had his morning coffee. He files that thought at the back of his mind, under 'interesting things'. "They make good coffee there, better than the one I can make here at home."

"They better," Minseok says, then, and pushes himself off the bed.

Kyungsoo wraps his fingers around Minseok's wrist, pulls him back down, and drapes his legs all over Minseok's own. "I'll make sure they will."

This, too, is probably caused by Kyungsoo's lack of coffee in his system, but Minseok thinks he can get used to this. It's not as if he's never been used as a bolster before, or that he's never received hugs, or that Kyungsoo hadn't held him so tight last night while they were dancing after he twirled Kyungsoo around – he's grown accustomed to touch. It this brand of warmth, the prickling kind, the kind that sends a sizzle down his abdomen and up his nape, that he needs to get used to. So he stays, doesn't move, simply sinks into the touch. If Kyungsoo ever rouses from his state of mild lethargy and pushes Minseok away, Minseok can pretend nothing happened and still sit with Kyungsoo in the same table, enjoy quality coffee.

Kyungsoo starts humming a few minutes after, now fully awake. He doesn't jerk or pull away but, instead, pulls Minseok even closer, burying his nose in Minseok's hair. If Minseok ever shivers, it's from the tickling sensation at the back of his ears caused by Kyungsoo's hot breath. It has nothing to do with the way this – a moment of spontaneity, Kyungsoo's arms around him, keeping him from going elsewhere and making him face the sunrise unfolding just outside the window – feels so right.

☄

"Oh hey, it's the prodigal hyung," Jongdae says as a greeting. Sehun waves over his shoulder, and Kibum cocks an eyebrow at him. "Had coffee yet?"

Minseok nods at Jongdae in response, then walks past him with the intent to head straight to the staff pantry. He's still full from breakfast and Kyungsoo might have made him drink more coffee than necessary. Granted, he only had two cups, but both were Long Black because Kyungsoo reiterated that, "You haven't tasted the best coffee in Organic until you taste their Long Black." So he gave in. He figured it was only a matter of time until he couldn't just let himself be conned into trying new things. He's in his late thirties and his body can only do so much at this age. He's just luckier than the most that he can still bend his back in unimaginable ways, but there's yoga to thank for that.

"I was hoping we could have a cup. Together, y'know," Jongdae says once he's caught up. He leans against the counter, just beside the coffee maker. "Or maybe share a cup. You know I never finish one and you hate me for it."

"Hate is too strong a word," Minseok replies. He takes his phone from his bag before leaving it in his locker. "More like, I think you're wasting something so good."

"If coffee was a religion, you'd probably be a preacher."

"Aren't I?" Minseok answers, grinning. He risks a glance at his phone and unlocks it when he sees a KKT notification. "Come on, I thought you knew me."

"I thought I did," Jongdae says, then. He takes the seat opposite Minseok and sits, the tips of his toes reaching Minseok's ankles under the table. The light brush tickles Minseok, but the sensation is cut short by Jongdae's piercing gaze. This look, Minseok knows well, and he also knows he's never been fond of this. This is the same eight-year-old he lived with years ago who'd throw a tantrum when he didn't get a hug or a kiss on the cheek before his parents went to work. "Well, I know you stayed at Kyungsoo's yesterday, but you didn't tell me you didn't attend the exhibit."

Minseok looks up and wishes he had bangs. He does, but Joonmyun has always said that he looks better with his bangs brushed up. Now he wears his hair that way every single day. Old habits die hard; so do memories. "I did. For a while."

"Then you left."

Minseok takes a deep breath and locks his ankles with Jongdae's own under the table. Jongdae coughs, lets out a few choked sounds. "Jongdae, Minyoung… she danced last night. And she danced really well."

"Oh," is the only thing Jongdae says in return. He sits back and sits up, eases the link of their ankles. The loss of warmth makes Minseok shiver a little, but he knows Jongdae needs a bit of space. Jongdae cried when he found out about Minyoung's condition, that all of her memories had been flushed out of her system because of the trauma and shock of the crash. He came to visit with Minseok the first few times Minseok went to Yeouido. He _is_ family, and finding out that Minyoung can dance – it's enough to make the headlines in Jongdae's mind. "Hyung, remember when she– When she kept bugging you about creating a video for you–"

"Yeah, a dance video," Minseok replies, chuckling. He takes a deep breath. "You should've seen her. She was so beautiful then. She… she looked so alive."

Jongdae tilts his head, a small cock to the side, and reaches for Minseok's hands across the table. The pads of his fingers are cold, as with the rest of his hand, and his fingers feel a bit too stiff. He laughs to himself. It's a bit weird to be the one trying to keep Jongdae warm when Jongdae has always been a little hotter, a bit more willing to lend warmth through touch or a smile. Minseok's attempts at extending sympathy and comfort are through choice words and his constant presence, but Jongdae needs something more right now. He needs someone to hold his hand and somehow tell him, through the friction of skin on skin, that everything's okay, Minyoung didn't fall on her ass, she owned the show. Minseok needs to let Jongdae know that he's fine and maybe that performance was what he needed to wake up. He's been asleep for the longest time and here Minyoung is, telling him to move his lazy ass and get a move on. Telling him that he's too old to be moping.

So he says, "You should see her again sometime. Come with me tomorrow?" Jongdae's fingers stiffen all the more, so he tightens his hold on Jongdae's hands. "Pretty sure she'll still be able to recognize you. I mean, she called me oppa yesterday."

"She _what?_ "

"She remembers," Minseok says, smiling. The corners of Jongdae's lips soften, tugging up into an easy smile that reaches his eyes. "And, well, I guess that… helped me forget."

Jongdae squints an eye and tilts his head all the more, until his ear is pressed to his shoulder. He's wearing a different smile now, a look of amusement that usually means he's getting back on track and easing himself out of sadness. "Joonmyun-hyung told me that you messaged him last night, said that we'll always be there for him. And I said yeah, we will. Even if he's hardly around to feed us these days."

Minseok snorts. "Well, he's always been a bit detached, even back in college."

Jongdae chuckles, but the sound comes out through his nose and catches him off-guard. "No, hyung, that was you," he answers, earnest, then flashes a peace sign. "But I think you've come around and you're catching up."

Minseok rolls his eyes, groans for effect. "It would help if you slowed down, you know? I'm old; I can't keep up sometimes!"

Jongdae moves his chair closer, the pegs of the feet scratching the floor. The shrill sound reaches Jongdae's ears, makes him wince, but it isn't enough to wipe off the grin on his lips. "You don't have to keep up, hyung. You just had to keep doing what you loved the most, you just had to keep dancing," Jongdae replies, slipping his fingers between Minseok's own between forcing Minseok's hand to stand on its side. "So I guess this is your second childhood now."

"So this is you taking a jab at my age while teaching me a lesson." Minseok laughs a little. "Very clever."

"This is why you have to listen to kids sometimes," Jongdae says, then sticks out his tongue. "Because you adults get so lost in your complicated ideas that you fail to realize that the solution to something is _so simple._ "

But simple isn't supposed to be good all the time. Simple is easy, and nothing good ever comes out of it. Simple is like taking the shortcut to the end because oh, how convenient, there's a secret passageway there! Here's a free ticket to success! That's not how it works in real life. Life dumps all sorts of shit on you, one lump after another, so you have to be alert at all times, be prepared with a plan. You have to come up with something so foul-proof that life can't figure it out and play a prank on you with your own plan again. But there can be exceptions, Minseok supposes, because everything's a matter of choice. You can choose to take the less trodden path but enjoy it, not feel like you're being burdened. You can also take the smoother road, a shortcut to victory, and feel miserable about outsmarting everyone else. You can choose to laugh at life when it shits on you. You can choose to be happy or sad, and right now Minseok chooses to _live._ So he nods his head to the steady rhythm of Jongdae's laughter, to the thumping in his chest, to Kyungsoo's voice in his mind, saying, _Be silly with me, then?_

"So simple," he mutters under his breath, then laughs. Jongdae doesn't stop laughing, but he does keep both eyes open, watching Minseok's every movement. So Minseok reaches out and pinches Jongdae's nose because that, too, is simple, and it's the easiest, most effective way to make Jongdae stop laughing at this slow and simmering realization. It's the easiest way to distract Jongdae from snatching his phone from his hand when three notifications come in.

_Hyung, just a reminder, after two Long Blacks, you probably shouldn't drink coffee anymore._   
_I bet you knew that, but just in case. :)_   
_Because Kibum didn't. But you're not him. You're different._

_Is that a good thing or a bad thing?_ Minseok asks, but he already knows the answer – it's a thing, and it doesn't matter to Kyungsoo whether it's good or bad. He's always been a bit of a risk-taker, after all, and Minseok is interested in taking risk classes under Kyungsoo's wing.

 _P.S. You need to work on your pirouettes. I can show you,_ he adds after a while, then slips his phone back in his pocket even before Jongdae can gather himself again. Two light buzzes and Minseok gives in to the urge to smile, lets the strong force pulling up at the corners of his mouth to do their work. He's not old enough for magic. He's just begun to live again.

☄

Kibum's last Zumba class for the day ends with a round of applause. The class, albeit complaining before that Kibum teaches the steps too fast, has come to enjoy the faster pace of the session, complaining this time that an hour isn't enough. "You can always sign up for two consecutive classes!" Kibum tells them, all bright eyes and a big smile, and Minseok gives the students a small smile as he slips inside the dance room. He offers Kibum a bottle of water, presses it to Kibum's cheek. Kibum seethes at the first contact but grows accustomed to it soon after, even nuzzling the bottle and humming in satisfaction.

"I haven't changed my mind, by the way. This is still _the only good thing_ that came out of you and Kyungsoo becoming friends," Kibum says in between sips. "Not that you wouldn't have told me, eventually. Kyungsoo just… He tends to bug people to get what he wants."

Minseok squints, but gives Kibum a slow nod in response. "Never would've guessed."

Kibum laughs a little. "I mean, he just stares at me and hovers until I give in. That counts as bugging, right? Because I sure was freaked out when he did that."

Not quite, he wants to say. He enjoys the quiet calm that comes with Kyungsoo's presence, the bouts of giggles that comes with Minseok trying to crack a joke and Kyungsoo trying to come up with a response. He likes the late nights spent walking along the Han and just swaying to some unknown music, or to Kyungsoo's humming. He likes the standstill where Kyungsoo just looks at him, pensive, and worries his bottom lip in an effort to not smile too much. Kyungsoo is… acquired taste, so to speak, and he's a flavor Minseok has come to get addicted to.

He remembers last night's dance, the way they'd been so reckless out in Lake Park, miles away from Gangnam. He remembers feeling like coming _home_ after being away for so long. It feels so right, and even if he hadn't stretched properly prior to dancing, he can't feel any pain in his limbs. He should thank years of yoga training for that, but the strain of dancing is different from the pain of yoga. Dancing alone in front of so many people feels so different from that silly dance they'd done last night in the dark, with only the street lights to see. And he feels different now, more at ease, more comfortable with himself, like he'd eased a clog in his body with the twist of his torso. And he feels so good.

"I think you have a problem," Minseok offers. He gives Kibum a pat on the back, then a sad smile. "Never too late to fix that, though. You can still try to be a bit more tolerable–"

"Thanks, hyung," Kibum says through gritted teeth. He offers Minseok a wry smile. "But really, thanks. This… kinda got me out of my rut. Preparing for that exhibit a few months back? Torture. I had to keep shitting out artworks that I didn't like."

"Didn't seem like it, though," Minseok says. He nudges Kibum in his side, not minding the way their arms slide with sweat, a bit sticky before he inches a few spaces away. "They were really great."

"I can hear a 'but' there." Kibum chugs the rest of the contents of the bottle down, coughing when he reaches the end. It isn't even that cold. "C'mon, I can hear a 'but' there. But Kyungsoo's works were better? Did they… touch you in a different way?" Kibum wiggles his eyebrows, and Minseok only frowns in reply. _"Come on!"_

"You could've done better, definitely," Minseok admits. He's seen too many of Kibum's works before, and if he'd compare Kibum's works to his own life, he'd say that all the paintings he'd done for this recent exhibit were like the entire time he hadn't danced. Two decades of desperately trying to shed his second skin and ending up wearing it again. And liking it. "And well, I can't compare your work to Kyungsoo's–"

He stops in his words, blinks a few times as he registers that they still have a transaction to work out. The deal is already months in the making and The Nightwalker has to get accustomed to its new home already but, somehow, Minseok doesn't mind. He doesn't mind taking a leisurely walk with the little girl in the painting who turns out to be a shadow of Kyungsoo. He doesn't mind dancing with it, either. So there isn't just _one good thing_ that came out of this friendship, this arrangement. It's one good thing after another.

"Because we have contrasting styles," Kibum finishes. His lips are quirked up in a smile. If he ever thinks of calling Minseok out on that split-second realization, he doesn't. Instead, he keeps talking, looks at his outstretched legs and points his toes while flexing his feet. "I thought you liked more abstract-looking stuff?"

People change, Minseok wants to say, but instead he says, "There are exceptions." He thinks of they day he met Kyungsoo, how easy it was for them to fall into a conversation about the performance, thinks of how one small discussion led to little encounters after that. He thinks, what if Kyungsoo hadn't found him slumped against the wall that time when he had a few bottles of soju with Baekhyun and Yixing? What if Kyungsoo hadn't carried him all the way from Insadong to Gangnam? What if Kyungsoo went on his merry way instead of taking time to help out a stranger who eventually became a friend?

"You've changed," Kibum says. He's grinning, though. "I kinda like it."

"Get used to it," is the only thing Minseok says before reaching out to pinch Kibum in his side. Kibum groans in displeasure and attempts to kick Minseok in his calf, but he misses. Minseok runs to the exit, a newfound energy in his knees as he sets his mind on heading back to the staff pantry. Then he'd open his locker, check his messages, check his surroundings for Kibum or Sehun or Jongdae _then_ reply to whatever message Kyungsoo has for him.

Then he'd head out and throw all plans of turning in early for the night out the window to take a walk along a long strip of land with Kyungsoo, let his limbs move to the melody of Kyungsoo's soft humming. Maybe he'll bring up the transaction somewhere along the way and they'd forget again, but there's always the opportunity to talk to Kyungsoo about it. _They_ are the nightwalkers, creatures of the dark who enjoy the company of the autumn wind turned winter and of each other. They're walking along the Han tonight, Kyungsoo declares in his text, and Minseok knows he won't regret it at all.

☄

"We've got to stop meeting like this."

Kyungsoo snorts but moves closer, elbow brushing against Minseok's own. They're walking along Sinsadong, navigating its streets until they reach Garosu-gil. The thick crowd in the evening makes the atmosphere warmer, but that doesn't stop the winds from blowing a bit too hard. Kyungsoo shivers, coughs a little, and hugs his jacket closer to himself. Minseok can see a hint of Kyungsoo's sweater peeking from his coat. He still hasn't brought gloves with him.

"Gloves or scarf?" Minseok asks.

Kyungsoo cocks an eyebrow at him. "Hyung?"

"Choose," Minseok says. He shivers a little, but unwinds his scarf from his neck, anyway. Kyungsoo is more perceptive on normal days, but it's colder than the usual tonight. Maybe he needs another cup of coffee. His third after taking two Long Blacks in the morning. Maybe he needs alcohol. Or both. "Which do you want – my scarf or my gloves?"

Kyungsoo stops in his tracks and looks up at him, a challenge written in the way the corners of his mouth tug up. There's something there, an underlying message, but the lighting here is too faint for Minseok to make out the details of the wicked smile. He squints, just the same, tilts his head to the side and catches the small space between Kyungsoo's lips, the light parting like he's poised to laugh. Then he hears it again, the same music that played in his head the day Kyungsoo taught him his victory dance.

"Neither," Kyungsoo whispers, voice so faint he can simply be breathing. He isn't – he's chuckling now, the wide grin that was once on his lips now melting into a small smile, a smirk, a shy twist of the mouth. He inches closer, then, and looks around for an audience. He clutches at the placket of Minseok's jacket. They're so close now, so close, enough that Minseok can see the way light filters through Kyungsoo's eyelashes if he squints hard enough, or that tiny dot of red on his cheek. Minseok can feel the warmth of Kyungsoo's breath on his chin, crawling to his cheeks and down his neck. If he leans closer, they'll be nose to nose, and their lips will brush. And they'll be warm. It's cold out here and what's wrong with sharing a bit of warmth through the press of the lips?

"Both," Kyungsoo answers after a while, breaking the spell. He pulls away with an easy smile, then tugs at Minseok's scarf. "Thanks, hyung. You're the best."

Cork for Turtle is tonight's escape route. Kyungsoo's usual spot is free, and Kyungsoo drags Minseok by the wrist in an attempt to get to it before someone else does. Minseok sort of understands Kyungsoo's fondness for it – the place is warm, but not so hot that he'll end up sweating profusely halfway through his cup of coffee. If he cranes his neck, he'll get a nice view of the Han from where they are. If he keeps his eyes facing front, he'll have a pretty good view, as well.

"Stop staring, hyung. I'll return your scarf," Kyungsoo grumbles. He shivers a little, then buries his nose in the material. "Just– I need to adjust to the temperature."

Minseok chuckles. "You can have it. As long as you're buying me food _and_ coffee, at least."

Kyungsoo cocks an eyebrow at him as if accepting a challenge, or posing a greater one. "That's all? I can get you anything in this place, just saying."

Minseok leans closer, then taps the tip of Kyungsoo's red nose thrice. "Just do it. You know what I want."

He isn't kidding – Kyungsoo should know his food and coffee preference by now. They've gone out for dinner and coffee a number of times already _and_ at the same place that figuring out Minseok's order won't be a puzzle anymore. For late nights in Garosu-gil, Minseok prefers alcohol, but make him choose between liquor and coffee and coffee wins, hands down. It's a no-Long-Black night tonight, so Kyungsoo runs a finger through the menu, looks up at Minseok longer than he'd stared at the items earlier. "How about a con panna?" he asks, a smile on his lips, small and tentative. He darts his tongue out just a little, licks his bottom lip and _ah,_ there it is, the warmth that temporarily left Kyungsoo's features. His lips turn a warmer shade of red and the tight corners of his mouth soften. "That'll be your… fifth espresso shot. Call?"

"You're imposing on me," Minseok teases.

"Imposing on you would be ordering the drink without consulting you," Kyungsoo retorts. "Just like you told me earlier." He winks when he ends, but for the most part it looks like he's blinking. Minseok wants to laugh, but even he has difficult properly winking at the right time or without at least two minutes of practice. So instead, he grins, teeth baring. The stretch at the corners feels a bit weird, but maybe it's because he isn't accustomed to this. Tight-lipped smiles are his staple; Kyungsoo makes him get used to changes in his life, _forces him_ to deal with changes in his life.

If this were Joonmyun, Minseok would've gotten another Long Black because Joonmyun will never impose, never tell him to stop and reevaluate his coffee choices. Joonmyun will order something different for himself and try to show Minseok how to deal with the need to drink coffee in the evening better. Joonmyun will stay long enough to watch Minseok realize the repercussions of his actions, and by then it will be too late for Minseok to try to save himself. And then Joonmyun will be there to run a soothing hand down his back and push him down on the bed. No words will be spoken, but Joonmyun's actions will say everything that Minseok has to hear. And Minseok hears nothing but regret and _you can prevent this from happening. Run away now, Minseok. Run away–_

So he appreciates it, Kyungsoo's different approach, the care and concern disguised in Kyungsoo's sharp words. He checks the menu, then looks up at Kyungsoo with a smile. "Con panna sounds good."

Kyungsoo leans back after giving Minseok an affirming nod. "You won't regret it."

The thing about this friendship, this… relationship is that Minseok hasn't regretted anything yet. He might have been a bit too reckless a couple of times when dealing with Kyungsoo, when giving into Kyungsoo's warm touch and the allure of his lips, but he doesn't wish he had the power to take back those moments of surrender. He spent all his life building walls around himself and forgot that there's still a way to get inside – through the top. But Kyungsoo didn't climb the walls; instead, he knocked on the door and asked, as politely as possible, will you _please fucking let me in?_

Minseok takes a sip of his espresso con panna when the waitress arrives with it, then nods slowly. The flavor is rich and intense, but the cream makes the contact of espresso on skin so light and velvety. It's an entirely different coffee experience, but then Kyungsoo has been nothing but a surprise. He's a breath of fresh air after confining oneself in a cave for so long. He's the whipped cream in a cup of espresso. He's the first jerk of the body at the start of a dance beat, and the final flourish at the end of the song. He's every great hit and, Minseok thinks, he can get used to this. He can get addicted to espresso con panna the same way that he's developed a deeper love for Americano. He can get addicted to Kyungsoo; it's just a matter of taking in more of Kyungsoo in his system.

"Oh, by the way," Kyungsoo begins, breaking the silence. "Kibum mentioned that you're still looking for another dancer. I know someone who can be interested." He reaches over, running his thumb along Minseok's top lip. Minseok freezes for a while until he realizes what Kyungsoo is doing, until he _sees_ it – Kyungsoo licking cream off his thumb, then sucking in his finger, letting it go with a dull 'pop'. "He used to be a yoga instructor before he started coaching China's synchronized swimming team."

Minseok leans back, eyebrows furrowed. "Are you sure we'll be able to afford him?"

Kyungsoo snorts. "Just feed him and he'll be okay with that. Also, bubble tea – he loves those. He'll warm up to you faster than a puppy."

"You make him sound like a dog."

"Well, now that you put it that way…" Kyungsoo's voice trails off, dissolves into air as he takes a sip of his own coffee. He's having a latte tonight, vanilla, nothing out of the ordinary. He said earlier that it's 'not an Americano kind of night' while clutching at his chest. Must be the palpitations. Minseok gets those when he has too much coffee. "He's a nice kid. Really sweet, too. I think he'll get along with Jongdae just fine."

Minseok laughs a little. "Everyone gets along with Jongdae."

"Even Kibum?"

"That's a trick question. Kibum got him drunk during the interview," Minseok replies. Kyungsoo parts his lips in a small 'o', then nods. "And he's still there. So maybe Kibum's just putting up with him because Jongdae's our boss. We'll never know."

"You can always ask," Kyungsoo says, like confrontations are so simple. They never are, or at least the confrontations Minseok had to go through were nothing like it. The ones he experienced were terribly emotional, _draining._ And they weren't lengthy explanations – they were short words, bouts of conversation. That time, when he asked Joonmyun if he stood a chance, Joonmyun looked at him with wide eyes and a question in the curve of his mouth. And he'd laughed at Minseok then before leaning in, then pulled away just as quickly. So maybe it was half a confrontation. Minseok had the words and Joonmyun had to keep his lips to himself.

So Minseok says, after taking a deep breath, "The painting, by the way," then worries his bottom lip. He leans back into his chair in an effort to not be pushy even if Kyungsoo's leaning closer, their knees now bumping. "I just realized, we never got to finalize the price or anything."

"Ah, that," Kyungsoo whispers. He chuckles then takes another sip of his drink. This time, foam catches on his top lip and Minseok takes a leap of faith, reaching out to return the favor Kyungsoo had done for him earlier because friends do good things for each other, right? Kyungsoo saved him from the humiliation of walking around with a cream mustache, so it's only fitting for him to do the same. It's only fitting and safe for him to press his thumb on Kyungsoo's top lip to wipe off the foam that has gathered on it instead of kissing it away.

"If you pose for my next painting, I'll waive the fee altogether and give it to you for free," Kyungsoo continues. He takes another sip, gaze still locked onto Minseok's. Is this a challenge, Minseok wants to ask, but instead he sucks on his thumb, licks off the residual foam. "You get the painting and you get to dance. I get to paint and immortalize you. It's a win-win situation."

 _Immortalize._ "Strong word," Minseok mumbles.

"Can't find anything more suitable," Kyungsoo answers. He chuckles. "Do you need time to think?"

He does. He's just emerged from a heartache and he saw his sister, his sister who he'd been avoiding all these years, dancing. His limbs still feel numb from the cold or maybe too sore from the sudden burst of activity. He can't tell. All he knows right now is that the prospect of dancing again both excites and frightens him. It's a bad combination that makes his stomach lurch in several different directions, makes him want to fall sick. But he isn't. He feels good and he feels like he can do yoga for the next twenty-four hours, then dance for another twenty-four. And then after that, he can pose for Kyungsoo because his body will be loose and comfortable enough to pose. Then Kyungsoo will be able to come up with a better painting, something that can capture the beauty of dance and movement.

He thinks back on the time he spent putting off everything, and laughs at himself. He's just giving himself an excuse to escape, then all of his and Kyungsoo's efforts at getting him out of this rut will be put to waste. He can't let that happen. It's like locking Minyoung up in that car and wishing, just wishing, that he was inside and that they'd all just disappeared in the car crash.

"Nah, I'm good," Minseok replies. He takes a deep breath, then asks, "You sure you'll give it to me for free?"

"You're worth more than the painting, but yeah," Kyungsoo answers, then turns his attention to his food. He scores a line through the meat, careful strokes in tandem with his easy breathing. Minseok allows himself to be entranced, then, by the movement of Kyungsoo's hands, by each stroke and upward and downward motion. By the small smile on his lips as he sinks his teeth in the meat. Kyungsoo looks up at him with wide eyes and a cocked eyebrow as if asking, _are you seriously going to let your coffee get cold?_ Or maybe he's saying, _the food's really good. Are you doubting my pick?_ Kyungsoo is a word holding so many meanings. Minseok can spend an entire day learning them all.

"It's good," Minseok says when he takes a bite off the chicken he ordered. Kyungsoo gives him an appreciative nod, then a toothy grin when Minseok makes the tiniest sound of approval. Minseok approves of that light flush on Kyungsoo's cheeks that travels quickly to his ears, too. "Really good."

☄

Minseok isn't exactly averse to the idea of meeting new people. He's okay with it and he recognizes it as part of the inevitable, but, "Can someone else do the phone call?" he asks as he holds his phone up. He has Kyungsoo's friend's number typed on the screen and Jongdae _promised_ to do the call earlier, but now he's miraculously busy with cleaning a spot on the floor. Minseok huffs, then, takes a deep breath and takes a break to navigate out of the dial pad and check Kyungsoo's message again. _He doesn't bite :D_ was Kyungsoo's helpful text last night, when Minseok asked for his friend's number. _He's a nice koala. Treat him nicely or you'll regret it._

He contemplates on sending Kyungsoo a voice note of his dry laughter, but that would be really weird. So instead, he pulls up a laughing sticker, then types, _Gonna give him a call. Wish me luck!_

He can hear low ringing on the other end of the line. If there's anything to regret right now, it's the seconds lost to waiting for someone to pick up the phone.

Kyungsoo's friend doesn't answer the call until two more tries after, an hour before Minseok's next yoga class. "Hello? This is… This is Huang Zitao, yes," says Kyungsoo's friend and the voice sort of makes Minseok giggle. If his tone is anything to go by then Kyungsoo is right, there _is_ nothing to fear about the guy. He should know better than to judge people so quickly, though – if he went with his gut feel all the time then he would have gotten past that veil of hope with Joonmyun before, or even dissuaded the idea of getting to know a weirdo he met at a Greek restaurant a few months back.

"Hi. This is Kim Minseok. Do Kyungsoo gave me your number," Minseok replies. Kibum looks up at the mention of Kyungsoo's name, and Sehun pinches Kibum in his side and mumbles, _focus, hyung._ "Yes, it's– It's about the opening here in JD Builders in Gangnam, yes. He mentioned that to you before?"

"Quite a few times," says Zitao on the other end of the line. There's a stifled giggle there, Minseok catches it just before Zitao clears his throat. "But he said Kibum-hyung already agreed to do part-time there so I didn't push through with it."

 _He tends to bug people to get what he wants,_ comes Kibum's voice in his mind. It's loud enough for him not to catch Zitao's succeeding statements. He asks Zitao to repeat what he just said, something about Kyungsoo having nothing but good things to say about the gym. "Which is funny because he's the last person I'd expect to go to a gym. But don't tell him that!" Zitao even says, mumbling something at the end that Minseok doesn't bother to decipher.

"Kibum actually managed to attract a new crowd of people who want to try Zumba, so we're looking for another instructor to help him out with the additional classes. And I heard from Kyungsoo that you used to coach the Olympic synchronized swimming team, so it would be really great if we could show you the facilities and talk to you face-to-face before we get to figuring out the paperwork.

"Kyungsoo… actually showed me pictures." A pregnant pause, then, "I mean Kibummie-hyung showed me pictures but he said those came from Kyungsoo–"

Minseok tries not to laugh. It's becoming increasingly hard to because all the image of this really great swimmer he'd constructed has come crumbling down after the mention of _Kibummie-hyung._ Kyungsoo's right – this guy _is_ as cute as a koala. "I hope you liked what you saw," he says, instead. The tickling sensation crawls up his throat, makes itself comfortable there and elicits the faintest chuckle from him. "We'd love to accommodate you on your most convenient time. Just let us know your availability!"

Kibum holds his arms up and crosses them in mid air while frowning. Sehun slaps him in the ass this time and says, louder, _"Focus."_

On the other end of the line, Minseok can hear soft humming, then a small gasp. Maybe Zitao's busy the entire week or maybe he just realized that he hates Zumba. Minseok would, too, if he had an instructor whose focus was as good as that of a gold fish's or like Kibum's. Sehun is patient when it matters, but make him train someone who is distracted by nice ass or really great gym attire and he loses it in a snap. And while Minseok's patience is usually longer than that of Sehun's, it's really hard to tell when you're faced with a situation as tough as trying to teach a kid how to do Zumba in the most serious way possible.

"Tomorrow would be great," Zitao says after a while. He hums again, and Minseok catches the sound of nails scraping the surface of a table. It's makes him wince, but it also excites him – it means Zitao is considering taking the offer, and that he's interested. It can also mean that Kyungsoo's looking at him in the eye and whispering, _if you don't take the offer, I'll make sure you regret it._

"Great! We'd be glad to show you around tomorrow! I'll book you an appointment with my boss," Minseok replies. He jots down Zitao's other contact details, then, and some other information on his work history, his favorite bands and artists, his favorite sports brand. Ten more minutes of conversation and he's positive Kyungsoo had nothing to do with Zitao developing interest for the job, much less for sharing an abridged version of his life story with Minseok. Ten more minutes, and then Jongdae's approaching him with a weird-looking beverage in a tall glass.

"Gatorade and banana shake," Jongdae says. He hands it to Minseok, pressing the cold glass to Minseok's nails, then takes a sip of his own drink as if letting Minseok know that _it's safe, trust me._ "Figured I could use something different in my life. That, and I was craving banana shake."

Minseok cocks an eyebrow at him, but takes the beverage anyway. Behind him, Kibum and Sehun groan in protest. "Then why the Gatorade?"

"I was supposed to grab some water." Jongdae rubs the tip of his nose. "Ended up grabbing the Gatorade, instead."

Minseok tilts his head and squints, then leans back. There's something wrong about this picture, something out of place. It's not entirely bad – Jongdae's not annoying, for the most part, and he's still alive so the concoction can't be that bad – but there's something different about it, like Jongdae got a new haircut except Minseok has to scratch the surface to see things clearer. "You alright?" he asks, then, and waves Sehun and Kibum off even before they can approach them near the counter. "You sound weird."

"Caught me," Jongdae admits. He looks around, then drops a mention about this group of people at the receiving area who's interested in availing of twelve class cards each for the evening Zumba session. Kibum and Sehun get back on their feet and hurry to the reception, and only then does Jongdae lock the door behind him. He's still dilly-dallying, still uncertain how to drop whatever bomb that's set to explode. Minseok has known Jongdae long enough to know that the light furrow of the eyebrows, the sullen look, the sad smile on his lips – these all mean that there's news pertinent to them that he wishes he didn't have to find out.

"EXO's taking a break. Baekhyun and Joonmyun-hyung got temporarily suspended for their reckless behavior." He digs deep in his pockets, fishing for his phone. He fiddles with it a little before handing it over to Minseok. "SM's saying something about impostors or the two just being really good and intimate friends. I mean, that would've been great if there weren't videos."

Minseok blows at his bangs, then scrunches his nose when hot breath tickles his skin. "Yeah, because friends totally feel each other up and grope each other backstage."

"Kibum squeezes your ass. You seem to be okay with that."

Minseok cocks an eyebrow at Jongdae. "That's not the point."

The point is that Joonmyun and Baekhyun got themselves in trouble, and that the company decided to cover it up with a lie. It's stupid; anyone can tell that whatever it was that they saw in the fan videos, that wasn't just two _really good friends._ There's passion in there, a different brand of connection. Minseok felt it, saw it even in the dim lighting in the video, even only through the screen on his phone. And he knows there's always been something going on between the two. It could've been a little crush gone overboard, or feelings finally getting settled. And it's a brave act, actually submitting to their desires mid-tour. Joonmyun has never been reckless, after all. There's a bit of Baekhyun in him now, a bit of that wild courage crawling underneath his skin.

Minseok takes a deep breath. It still hurts, thinking about the way Joonmyun and Baekhyun looked then, the way they _fit,_ but what else can he do? They're miles away from him and they've finally surrendered to each other and they're _happy._ No amount of scolding or harsh criticism from the management or the fans can ever dissuade the fact that Joonmyun finally being honest with himself took a lot, and that Baekhyun finally having enough courage to _surrender_ is a mean feat. And Joonmyun keeps saying in their group message, _I'll be fine. Don't worry about me._ It's Joonmyun's default response when he's plagued with issues, but Minseok can sense a hint of honesty there.

Joonmyun never lied to him. Joonmyun just never told him the truth. And Minseok has seen it now, with his own two eyes. It looks like a pretty little painting that was once shuffled to the far end of an exhibit instead of being showcased out in the open.

"He says he's okay and I swear to God, hyung, I believe him," Jongdae says, then, and leans back against the counter. "He sounds okay but I know he's stressed and all? And that he's more worried about Baekhyun than anything else? And maybe he wants out because now that he finally got what he want, his freedom's being taken away from him?"

Minseok reaches out, resting his hand on Jongdae's arm. "So we'll let him vent," he replies. There's a warm, bubbling sensation at the pit of his stomach, and it's slowly crawling up his system, up his throat. If it reaches his chest, he might not be able to breathe, so he tries to push it back down. "And maybe we'll lie for him if people ask. Because the moment he signed with SM, the moment Baekhyun entered that contract, as well, they knew they were signing themselves up for years of being locked up in a cell."

Minseok knows how it feels, to be cruising through life and enjoying every bit of his trip _and then_ to be suddenly falling from grace. And he knows it hurts. He knows that Joonmyun will inevitably be afraid of getting back on both feet and extending his hand in Baekhyun's direction because _people might take it the wrong way._ The seed has been planted and there's no way that people won't read into every single detail of their dynamic, every move of the muscle, every exchange of smiles or eye contract or even the hitch of the breath.

"And we'll teach him how to get back up," Minseok adds after a while. "Because we're good at that, right? Getting back on our feet after getting knocked down?"

Jongdae worries his bottom lip but holds Minseok's gaze. There's a hint of a smile there, in the light upward tug of the lip, in the way the furrow of his eyebrows eases and softens into something Minseok can easily recognize. This is Jongdae's _I'm placing my full trust in you so don't let me down, hyung._ Don't let me down look. "You mean looking for new people to take over Sehun's job because he's stupid and he got himself injured all the more because he works too hard."

Minseok nods, slow and deliberate. "Well, yeah."

"What do you mean _well, yeah?_ "

"I mean," Minseok begins, then bumps his hip into Jongdae's own. "You're right. And that you're just restless. And that you should start worrying about yourself more than you do others."

"Strong words," Jongdae mumbles under his breath but he moves closer, anyway. The press of their arms against each other is sticky and warm, but Minseok doesn't mind it. The Gatorade and banana slushie Jongdae made is enough to even out the temperature, keep him a bit cool inside and still have enough warmth to lend to Jongdae. And Jongdae isn't inching away, either. So they stay there, pressed side-to-side, a comfortable silence easing the knots in Minseok's stomach, his shoulders, his chest.

Later, Jongdae excuses himself to do his rounds and check on the gym members. Minseok fishes for his phone from his pocket and pulls down his notifications. Three KKT messages, all from Kyungsoo. There's no one here, nothing but the bright lights in the staff pantry to see him, so he gives into the urge to grin as he tells Kyungsoo about the phone call with Zitao.

He exists the conversation window and navigates to his thread with Joonmyun. _Happy for you and Baekhyun. Stay strong! :D_ he types. His thumbs freeze a little halfway through, like his joints are locked and won't allow him to move, but he presses on. He presses on and hits the 'send' button, responds to Joonmyun's reply – a simple _thanks :)_ – with a sticker, and scrolls through his recent stickers to bombard Joonmyun with some. Only when he puts his phone down does he realize that he's never been fond of using stickers – not on Facebook, and certainly not on KKT. He's never even thought of downloading any until Jongdae _insisted_ that he have at least a few stickers that aren't the default ones when they move their text threads to KKT for practicality purposes.

And now, here he is – downloading a sticker pack that Kyungsoo linked because _I made that a few months back. Earned from it, actually. The little girl is there._ Downloading a sticker pack not upon Kyungsoo's recommendation, but upon his request. Downloading a sticker pack because sometimes words escape him, leave him without any coherent thought as he engages in conversation with Kyungsoo.

 _The main in this pack looks like you,_ Minseok says once he's tested out a few. His thumb hovers on a sticker – the same Kyungsoo-looking character with cheeks tinted with pink, yet ears that burn a bright red. There's a speech bubble there that says _cute!_ and Kyungsoo will probably kill him, but hasn't Kyungsoo already? Kyungsoo shot him point blank the moment Kyungsoo asked him to teach him how to dance. And then he picked him up, revived him, twirled him around for a dance.

He taps the sticker and grins, anticipating Kyungsoo's reply.

When Minseok sees Kyungsoo's response, he closes his eyes, hangs his head low, and wishes he wore his hair long enough to cover his eyes, his cheeks, his face. Still, he risks another glance at it and, this time, he laughs. He laughs until his throat runs dry and Jongdae returns from his rounds to ask him, "Are you crazy?"

"No," he says, shaking his head. He wears a smile on his lips, bright and confident. He's not the only who thinks so, after all.

 _You're cuter ;)_ the message says. Minseok can replay that image in his head again and again until the day ends, until he has to tuck himself in bed, until he has to slip his phone beneath his pillow. But knowing Kyungsoo, he'll be kept up until the whee hours of the morning while they talk about art and music and dance, and Kyungsoo being excited about painting Minseok, and Minseok saying, _don't expect much. Don't expect anything at all._

Kyungsoo is a big bunch of all things unexpected, after all. And Minseok likes it. Minseok likes every single thing about Kyungsoo.

☄

Minseok has always known that the I-told-you-so conversation was going to be hard. It's a given – Baekhyun is a star. Joonmyun's a pretty big name in the business in his own right. They were seen getting frisky backstage, _during a tour._ It's like sleeping on the job and snoring loudly to spite your boss. This is the price you have to pay for wanting fame and fortune, he'd tell Joonmyun if he was drunk as fuck, but he isn't. He's rarely ever completely inebriated to lose sense of what he says, anyway. There's no liquor in the house right now, just water and some fruit juice. It's eleven in the evening and he's just paused the dance video he was watching in favor of a phone call from Joonmyun.

"Do you want me to say it?" Minseok asks, nonetheless, because Joonmyun likes being given a another option, being told that there's a self-destruct button before pressing it. Joonmyun makes a small disgruntled sound that Minseok takes as a yes. "I... know you'll get through this. For now, just be a good boy."

Joonmyun snorts on the other end of the line. "The one time I don't play the part, I fuck up everything," Joonmyun says, voice dropping so close to a whisper. He's probably leaning against a wall now, head thrown back. His eyes are probably sullen and he's heaving a sigh, but he won't let Minseok hear that. Or at least he'll hope Minseok won't hear it because sometimes, Joonmyun overestimates himself, underestimates the extent to which his friends know him. Minseok has spent so many years watching over Joonmyun that he knows, just by his words and the thick blanket of silence that follows, exactly what Joonmyun is doing.

Minseok hears a light scratch, then a soft thud. Joonmyun hasn't changed – he still loves doing that dramatic sliding down the wall thing. You'd think you'd get rid of your habits from more than a decade ago, but no – these things stick with you, almost define you. Joonmyun hasn't changed so really, this is the same person Minseok fell in love with so many years ago, the same person who helped get him off three hours before their final exam. And this is the same person who'd dropped to his knees after Minseok jerked him off and fingered him 'for good luck' just before his last exam before graduation. _It'll help you relax,_ Joonmyun had said then. _Stop thinking about how you bombed that exam because you didn't. Just… Let me make you feel better._

"If it makes you feel better," Minseok says now, pausing to clear his throat. "The fans are doing a great job at controlling news from spreading online."

Joonmyun laughs a little. "I love his fans sometimes. You can always depend on them to defend him. I mean the group! Of course, it's all for the group." There's a long pause, and only Joonmyun's uneven breathing breaks the standstill. Minseok wants to laugh – he's too familiar with this. He wants Joonmyun to prove him wrong for once.

Joonmyun hums, then, and asks with a chuckle, "You're a member of his fansites, hyung?"

"Well–" There was a time when Joonmyun asked him to sign up for EXO's official fanclub. It wasn't like he needed those special access things – the boys had special access to the gym and Minseok's fridge here in his flat, after all – but more sign ups means a happier management. And a happier management essentially means these little kids being less difficult to deal with and Joonmyun not having to worry about them all the time. So he didn't have a choice, really. Joonmyun had one hand on his shoulder then, and another on his hand. _Come on, hyung, you're just a click away,_ Joonmyun had said then. _One more step, and then you'll be an official member._

"Forget it. I know what you're gonna say." Joonmyun laughs again, brighter this time, a fuller sound. Minseok taps the spacebar on his laptop lightly, waiting for Joonmyun's next statement. "Do you really think they'll ever let Baekhyun off the hook?"

"They won't," is Minseok's honest reply because he knows that this is what Joonmyun needs to hear right now. He doesn't have to lead Joonmyun on, make him believe some silly future that they both know is far-fetched. "But that doesn't mean they won't let Baekhyun promote again. I mean, you said it yourself – half of EXO's fans are there for Baekhyun. Does SM want to teach Baekhyun a lesson? Yes, definitely. Do they want to lose a great manager like you and EXO's huge following? No. They'd be stupid if they even thought of that."

Joonmyun scoffs. "You make it sound so easy."

"It isn't," Minseok admits. "So just make the most out of this whole… thing. Tell Baekhyun not to strain his vocals too much. Don't fuck him in the mouth too often."

_"Hyung."_

Minseok feels a warm sensation creeping up his throat, spilling from the corners of his lips. He chuckles. "I'm just saying, you've… got to move on. This scandal with haunt you forever, yes, but that doesn't mean you have to build your life around it. I mean…" He throws his head back and closes his eyes, tries to recall the way he felt when he danced with Kyungsoo out in the open that night in Ilsan. It's… hard to put into words, but if he could share that emotion with Joonmyun, the relief that comes with finally getting rid of all the blockages in his system, or excess baggage and past grievances and regrets– If he could just make Joonmyun feel the same thing, then he wouldn't have to scramble for the right words anymore.

"But Baekhyun– This– This will damage his career forever," Joonmyun whispers.

"There's nothing we can do about that. The thing happened already." Minseok grips the edge of his table and pulls himself up, sits up straight. "But you _can_ do something about the future. Learn from it. Be more careful next time." He reaches out, but all that greets him is the display on his screen, Infinite's dance practice for their latest single. A KKT notification on his screen that tells him that Kyungsoo sent him a message at the start of the call. He lets his hand drop to his side, then, and breathes out. Air passes through his nose rather noisily, and he catches Joonmyun laughing just a little on the other end of the line.

"You just have to live with it, I guess, and hope for the best. _Strive_ for the best," Minseok continues. "I know it sounds like bullshit but that's just how life works."

"Funny," Joonmyun says, voice barely above a whisper. Minseok makes a small sound of confusion, a light hum, and Joonmyun repeats, "This is really funny."

Minseok blinks a few times, eyes fixed on his screen. The lady dancing in the video is paused halfway through a twirl, the tips of her fingers are barely touching with her arms held in front of her. He feels a bit bad for having to pause her halfway through the routine, but then he catches something – the light scrunch of her nose, the way she purses her lips, the slight furrow of her eyebrows. There's something wrong with the way she's twisting her torso and maybe it's making pain shoot up her spine, her system, shooting to every inch of her body. And that's bad. Minseok takes a deep breath and waits – for Joonmyun's succeeding statement, for the right time to hang up, for the opportunity to play the video again so he can relieve the lady dancing in his screen of her misery. He waits until he realizes Joonmyun is still searching for the right words because that's how Joonmyun has been programmed – he'll keep quiet when he hasn't found the best way to express himself, when he hasn't found his words yet. And he'll make the person he's conversing with wait.

"What's funny?" Minseok asks.

Joonmyun finally chuckles. "You are. And this… this whole thing." Joonmyun makes this weird half-scoff, half-laughing sound that makes him sound as if water's gotten through his nose. "We're talking about Baekhyun and you're telling me to move on when–"

Minseok rolls his eyes. Too bad Joonmyun can't see him. "When?"

"When you… When you're…" Joonmyun pauses again, but this time it's because he's clearing his throat like he's preparing for the statement of his lifetime. "When you've been stuck in the same place for the longest time."

Minseok hits the play button. He drags the volume lever down, though, keeps the volume low. Background music is enough to tide him through the silence of the night. He hums, then, the same music he remembers Minyoung dancing. It sounds a lot like one of the songs Minseok used to dance to back in middle school, his audition piece to be part of the dance troupe. It loosens the knots in his stomach, lifts the heavy feeling in his shoulders a little. It's enough to coax a sound up his throat, slipping from the corners of his mouth.

 _"Was,"_ Minseok says in reply. "I was stuck. For a really long time. Then I thought of checking my shoes and found lots of gum stuck there. For a couple of years already."

Joonmyun snorts. "That's gross, hyung."

"I know," Minseok answers. "That's why I changed shoes. Got a pair of new dancing shoes," he goes on to say. "They… feel pretty nice."

Joonmyun hums. It's a different melody and it has… a couple of garbled words, like he really means to sing but just can't remember the right words. Minseok canhelp him, but this isn't a song he knows. This isn't a song Joonmyun is meant to share with him. This is a song Joonmyun's meant to let him hear and only just. So Joonmyun finally comes up with random syllables that sound good with the tune, but they don't mean anything. If they ever did, Joonmyun would've used the right words already.

"New shoes, huh? Don't you still need to break them in?"

Minseok thinks back on that time when he saw Minyoung coming up on stage to receive an award, thinks of Minyoung calling him 'oppa'. He thinks of finding himself in the dance Minyoung led, finding himself in the past and even more of himself in the future. He thinks of Kyungsoo's open invitation, Kyungsoo asking if he wanted to be found, Kyungsoo spotting him from a mile away but taking slow, careful steps before approaching him. He thinks of returning to Gangnam the morning after, limbs a bit sore from the impromptu dance, but his nerves set back in place.

"I should try actually dancing in them," Minseok replies. The lady in the video falls, but gets back up. "Yeah, I probably should."

Joonmyun bids him goodbye, then, thanks him for being there to listen and knock sense into him. He tells Joonmyun to give Baekhyun a big hug for him. "Just that," he reiterates. Joonmyun's response is the most beautiful peal of laughter, and a wish for Minseok to not get blisters in his new shoes.

"And hyung?" Joonmyun says just before he hangs up. "Don't forget to have fun."

Minseok pulls up his KKT window on his laptop and laughs at the many stickers he's already downloaded. Kyungsoo's sticker pack is still his favorite – still the cutest.

"I won't," Minseok replies, bright and earnest. Joonmyun has long put down the phone, but Minseok whispers, anyway. "Never have, never will."

☄

Huang Zitao, as it turns out, is another one of those Kyungsoo-like toasted marshmallows – tough on the outside, a bit burnt with experience around the edges, but a complete softie inside.

Minseok is pretty damn sure Zitao hadn't meant to gush at the interiors of the yoga room, but the glimmer in his eyes simply gave him away. "This is great. The best hot room I've ever seen," he says, voice dropping to a whisper as he marvels at the room. He runs his fingers through the walls, taking in the detail of the grains of the wood, then looks over his shoulder to beam at Minseok. "You're doing a really great job at maintaining this room. I know how tough it can be when you're dealing with wood," he says, then, and despite the placid look on his features, there's no denying the small smile tugging up at the corners of his lips.

"Well, it's home," Minseok replies, leaning against the wall. Zitao gives the place one last look, then takes a deep breath. Minseok had set the temperature to warm earlier, and it seems that Zitao enjoys this brand of heat. "I try to make the yoga experience as enjoyable as it should be. A good location always helps."

"It does. I used to– Yoga helped me work on my flexibility and breathing," Zitao says. He's at the middle of the room now, socked feet tapping on the floor. The room is meant to leave a sense of relaxation, not excitement, but Minseok can't say he minds. He hasn't met anyone who shares his enthusiasm with yoga. Baekhyun doesn't count; everybody knows he does the routine for the ass.

"Were you an athlete before?"

"I was in the swimming team, yes," Zitao affirms. He begins to make his way back to where Minseok is. From this distance, Zitao's smile is even more blinding, and he looks at least three years younger. It's the enthusiasm at work, Minseok thinks. If he'd been blessed with the same thing, maybe he'd look ten years younger than his real age, and he won't give the credit to his severe lack of height.

"I picked up swimming to treat my asthma. Then I did yoga, as well. One of the best eras of my swimming career, really, the time when I was doing both," Zitao continues after a while. "But I had to stop eventually. You know athletes – our bodies can only endure all the rigorous training up until a certain age."

"As with dancing," comes Kibum's voice from behind. Zitao's features light up and Zitao gives him a wave, a rather enthusiastic one at that. Kibum flashes two thumbs up at Zitao. "Soo bullied you to come?"

"Sort of," Zitao says, groaning. He's still wearing the same smile, though. Marshmallow, Minseok notes. Kyungsoo's friend, he adds, underlining the text twice in red marker. "You know how he is."

"I honestly can't imagine him conning you two into working here at the gym," Minseok admits.

"Well…" Kibum takes a few steps forward, locking his arms behind his back. "I wouldn't say he _bullies_ people. He just… has this really unorthodox way of convincing us that he knows what's best for us."

Now _that_ would be so easy to imagine – Kyungsoo nodding, slow and deliberate, as he digests information on the situation at hand, then slipping small pieces of advice on what to do. Kyungsoo urging someone to give it a shot, just take a stab at it, _you won't regret anything and if you do, you can drag me into the mess._ The thing is, Kyungsoo _has_ made a mess of Minseok's life. He set Minseok off-track and off-course. Good thing there's something better here, in the off-beaten path. And now they're dancing Kyungsoo's small victory dance – out in the open now, no longer in the dark, along the Han where the winds blow the hardest.

"But sometimes, he just threatens to punch us until we give in," Kibum adds, shrugging. "Sometimes I try to put up a fight just to piss him off. The look on his face is priceless."

"Hilarious," Minseok corrects. He doesn't say _really cute._ He turns to Zitao, then, and says, "Ready to do your demo with Kibum?"

Zitao turns to Kibum at once, eyebrows furrowed, and asks, "My employment is in _your_ hands?"

Kibum snorts. "Mine and Sehun's and Jongdae's. But they're too nice, so yeah – you have to please me."

Zitao frowns. "Alright," he replies. To Minseok, he says, "Will you be there, hyung? Kyungsoo… Kyungsoo says you have a very soothing presence. I think… I'll need it if Kibum's around to harp at me."

Minseok cocks both eyebrows and laughs a little, the sound slipping from his lips so unceremoniously that even he, himself, is surprised. He runs through his schedule in his mind, turns to Zitao with an easy smile before saying, "Sure. My next class isn't until two hours after, anyway. I can watch."

Zitao's reply is a big grin, bright eyes. He takes a deep breath and turns to Minseok with a determined look, promising, "I won't let you down."

Later, in the dance room, Sehun goes through his toughest selection of songs, pulls up one of his high-intensity routines that makes Kibum widen his eyes at him more than rejoice at the difficult routine they're about to do. Zitao accepts the challenge wholeheartedly, though, accepts without question, and marches in place as the opening beats come in. Sehun hasn't even started dancing yet, but already Zitao has gotten himself in the zone. Kibum's apprehension only lasts about a split-second, and then it's gone, replaced by a smug smirk tugging hard at one corner of Kibum's mouth. Sehun moves like he isn't experiencing pain, _like a professional,_ and Kibum dances like he's simply enjoying the show and not showing off. Zitao matches their enthusiasm, and halfway through the chorus they fall into step with one another, moving to the same beat, the same rhythm, chin held high. A smile stretching so hard at the corners of their lips. Sehun ends up laughing just before they hit the bridge of the song.

Kibum looks over his shoulder and mouths at Minseok, _join us?_

It takes less than a second for Minseok to decide. He takes a deep breath, flexes his hands, and pushes himself off the floor. He sways to the beat before falling into the formation. Sehun casts a quick look at him, but there's no hiding that big grin on his lips – they're surrounded by mirrors here. There's no darkness to shield Minseok from everyone, no darkness to help Minseok ease into the strain of dancing, no Kyungsoo to tell him, _do this silly dance with me, hyung?_ So maybe he's not used to dancing Zumba or maybe he hasn't stretched yet, but sometimes a beat just calls out to you, serenades you with its alluring tone. Moves you to _move._ So the only sensible thing to do is to let the beat consume you.

Minseok gives in without question and closes his eyes. He waits for the chorus and feels the percussion in the inside of his elbows, the back of his knees, at the back of his ears.

He dances.

☄

Winter finally settles down in earnest, bringing dry, harsh winds with it. It's unbearable for more people who don't fancy the cold weather, but there's always the option of putting on more layers of clothes to be able to navigate through the streets of Seoul. It's terribly inconvenient; still, Minseok heads to Yeouido, taking public transport instead of driving all the way from Gangnam. He'd struggled to get out of bed earlier this morning, but the promise of good coffee in the afternoon when he heads to Hongdae to meet up with Kyungsoo is enough a motivation to get him on his feet.

He takes a deep breath as he walks down the halls of Lucky. He flexes his fingers as he looks around, then takes off his gloves – Kyungsoo had to remind him through text, _hyung, you're gonna die out there if you don't bring them._ Christmas always arrives too soon in this place, with the staff raring to start decorating for Christmas as soon as Halloween tides over. There's a Christmas tree in the lobby now, and Christmas balls hang from the ceiling. The staircase is lined with pin lights of different colors, and garlands that are a bit of an overkill with the lights hitting the shiny surface. It _feels_ like Christmas already, albeit too early, but the people staying in Lucky don't seem to mind. If anything, they're even enjoying it. Minseok passed a classroom just a few minutes ago and the students inside were running around and playing a game with their teacher.

"Oppa!" comes a familiar voice from behind. He looks over his shoulder, then, smiling when he gets a glimpse of Sunyoung. What greets him is a plethora of art materials in Sunyoung's arms, then Sunyoung's phone tucked under her chin. "Maybe you'd want to help me here?"

He makes his way to Sunyoung in big strides that slowly gain pace. "I was supposed to bring these coloring materials to the art room first, but you texted so–" Sunyoung almost gasps when one of the paint tubes at the top topples over, but Minseok goes for the save, catching it with one hand.

"So you're saying, this whole thing is my fault?" Minseok teases. He takes half of the things Sunyoung is carrying off her arms, though. Sunyoung frowns at him, grumbles, but her eyes still glimmer. She never loses her shine. "Fine, fine, I'm at fault. Now, let oppa help you get these things to the art room."

"Thanks," Sunyoung singsongs, then leans on Minseok's shoulder. "And for that, I'll deliver you good news – we already transferred her to her winter room!"

His lips fall open in a small 'o' as he nods in thought. He'd sent Sunyoung a text the week before, the weekend of the awarding ceremonies and the exhibit. Winter had started to creep up on him then, and the first thing he did upon pouring his first cup for the morning was to send Sunyoung a message, asking Minyoung to be transferred to a different room. Minyoung never was a fan of winter, even before the crash happened, and only liked it when Minseok invited her to play with the pots and pans at home or even dance for her. And they haven't done that in a while. There's nothing to keep Minyoung warm here, with the cold winds of winter hitting the walls of Lucky.

"Thanks. I forgot I sent a text," he admits as they make their way across the hall. "She hates the cold weather, you know that."

Sunyoung shakes her head. "Not when you came over frequently to play with her in the snow. I mean, that was years ago but–"

Minseok chuckles. It would probably be nice to play with Minyoung out in the open again, roll on the snow-covered field just beside the building, but they're not kids anymore. And Minyoung _hates_ the cold now. She hates it because it numbs her fingers and knees, not because Minseok hasn't come to have a snowball fight with her for the past decade. She hates it because it limits her instead of empowering her. And Minyoung has never loved being hindered from doing what she loves the most.

"I'll just teach her how to dance," he offers, instead. Sunyoung stops in her tracks, eyes wide open as she meets Minseok in the eye. "You can tag along, if you want."

The pout on Sunyoung's lips blossoms into a slow-forming smile, one that reaches her eyes and lifts fatigue from her features. Her hair is a mess from all the work she has done for the day, and yet she still looks amazing – shining and filled with youth, like that simple statement has breathed life back into her after having to move from one room to another and clean up after the art students. "I'd really love to, oppa," she says after a while, still grinning. And then she's turning on her heel, making her way to the art room. She's walking faster now, energy renewed, and soon Minseok has to catch up with her.

He tries not to trip on his own feet in an effort to get to the room at once. He fails miserably and ends up having to clean up with Sunyoung before heading to Minyoung's new room.

The warmer side of the building isn't exactly the most quiet of places. Some of the classrooms are there, along with some activity rooms. Minyoung doesn't seem to mind, though, Minseok muses as he peers through the window and catches Minyoung doing some finger painting. He can't see what she's working on from where he is, but he does catch the big grin on her lips, the way she bobs her head as she reaches out for hand wipes and proceeds to using the brush instead of her fingers.

"You want to go inside, oppa?" Sunyoung asks, voice soft, almost pleading.

Minseok risks a glance at her and looks away as soon as he sees the sweet smile on Sunyoung's lips. "You're not giving me a choice, are you?"

"Come on, oppa. It's Christmas! It's the time for good and happy things. I'm sure she'll be happy to see you."

A complete truth, if the grin on Minyoung's lips during the awarding ceremony is anything to go by. She had the sweetest, most beautiful smile then, and damn if Minseok's heart didn't melt at the sight of it. The way she said 'oppa' was simply icing on top. And while it isn't Christmas yet, Lucky has always had a twisted timeline. Time passes here quicker than it does everywhere else, like the people here are always in a rush to find a reason to be happy and contented. A reason to thank whatever good beings there are that are helping them tide through the tough times here on Earth.

Maybe he can walk into Minyoung's room with Christmas in tow. It's a nice thought to entertain.

He grips the doorknob tight, but turns to Sunyoung before turning it. "I deserve an award for this. You're giving me an award."

She sneers. "Fine, I'm going to ask Kibummie-oppa on a date. Good enough?"

Minseok snorts. "Well, I guess he could use a push."

Sunyoung motions to retrieve her phone from her pocket and Minseok shakes his head in reaction. "I'm kidding. I'll do it. But if you do ask Kibum out, here's a tip: do it through KKT. He'll freak out when you give him a call."

Sunyoung flips her hair, then turns a bright shade of red once she realizes what she has just done. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. He has this 'tough exterior but complete marshmallow deep inside' thing going on." She grumbles but smiles a little as she ends, anyway. "Ah, your friends…"

 _Friends._ Minseok chuckles at the mention of the world. With a deep breath, he turns the knob and swings the door forward. Minyoung looks up from what she's doing and greets him with wide, wide eyes.

It isn't the fact that they're the only ones, save for Sunyoung, in the room that makes this meeting different. It's the fact that Minyoung stands from her seat as soon as she recognizes Minseok, the fact that she grins rather toothily and makes this weird sound of amusement as she walks to where he is. "Oppa," she says, voice lilting at the second syllable, and Minseok feels his throat constrict. He's heard this voice before and even at a closer proximity, but Minyoung didn't look like _this_ then. Her lips weren't tugged up at the corners in a smile and her eyes weren't glimmering.

She wasn't this happy, like she _knows_ it's high-time that Minseok turned the knob and entered the room. He still can't believe that this is what he's been missing all these years, but that doesn't matter anymore, Minseok reminds himself, and flushes those thoughts out of his system. He focuses on the _now,_ this – Minyoung tugging at the hem of his shirtsleeves, grinning up at him. She hasn't grown much, but then being small is in their genes.

"Minseok-oppa," she says this time, and the lump lodged at Minseok's throat expands, makes him choke on his words all the more. "Minseok-oppa came to visit! Minseok-oppa is here!"

"Go on, oppa," Sunyoung says a few feet away from them. Minseok risks a glance over his shoulder and chuckles at the crazy grin on Sunyoung's lips.

Taking a deep breath, Minseok takes Minyoung's outstretched hand and shakes it once, twice, thrice, until Minyoung pulls him close for a hug. It's a messy hug and Minseok ends up with his nose buried in Minyoung's paint-stained hair, but he doesn't care. The fit still feels the same, like he's still 10 and she's 8 and she's _begging_ for him to show him some of his latest dance moves. Like nothing has changed, not even with all these years Minseok has spent behind a glass, keeping his distance from Minyoung, trying to rewrite his past, if not forget it entirely.

He tightens his hold on Minyoung, circling his arms around her waist. "Did you miss oppa?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper, and he gets a violent shake of the head from Minyoung. Minyoung hits the side of his face, but that's fine – it doesn't leave a mark, doesn't leave a dull ache just inches from his left eye. "What have you been up to while oppa was away?"

Minyoung pulls away, then, lips pursed and eyes narrowed at Minseok. She hums, bobbing her head to some rhythm Minseok can't quite make sense of at the moment, then grins up at him once she settles on what to say. "Painting and dancing! There's this… We have a new teacher, oppa. He's just as small as you and he paints really well."

Minseok snorts, tries not to cackle. Kyungsoo probably wouldn't take that lightly. He files that thought at the back of his mind and takes a step back, resting his hands on Minyoung's shoulders, instead. "Really? Better than you?"

"Ah, no," she replies. There's a smug smile on her lips but she's having difficulty keeping the act, the other corner of her lips tugging up as well and her lips falling open into a teeth-baring smile. "He's okay. I'm better. I'm the best."

Minseok laughs a little. "Now, _that's_ my Minyoungie."

Minyoung nods in agreement and buries her face in the crook of Minseok's neck. "Minyoung is really good. Minyoung is the best!"

He takes the opportunity to look up and around the room, admiring the posters on the wall. He would've seen this in the exhibit had he stayed, but he likes this privilege, getting to see the paintings up close and without people to distract him from doing so. He scans each and every single one, squinting to get a better look at the details of each – there's a painting of the sunset directly in front of him, and there are two silhouettes east of the tree at the middle. They're silhouettes of kids and they're probably five, six-year-olds. One of them is wearing her hair long, up to her shoulder, and the other one – a girl or a boy, Minseok can't tell right now – seems to be wearing a beanie.

Minyoung stirs, then looks over her shoulder, narrowly missing bumping her face into Minseok's own. "Oppa, what are you–" She stops as she follows Minseok's gaze, then rushes to the painting to clutch it close to her chest. "Aaah, this was supposed to be for oppa's birthday!"

Laughter tickles Minseok's throat, teases a grin out of him. "But my birthday isn't until next year."

"Doesn't matter," Minyoung says, then sticks out her tongue. "Oppa has a gift for me, too, right?"

"Of course," Minseok answers, reaching out to ruffle Minyoung's hair. Minyoung meets him halfway, leaning into the touch a bit too early that Minseok almost jams his fingers into Minyoung's scalp. "For every holiday and every important day in Minyoungie's life, mhmm?"

"Promise?"

He sticks out his pinky and waits for Minyoung to lock her own onto Minseok's. He chuckles, then, unable to hold in his amusement, then leans in to plant a soft kiss on Minyoung's forehead. "Promise."

He spends the next hour listening to Minyoung take him through her art journey, tell her about this art piece, that painting. What she's been doing the whole time he was away and maintained a distance between them. He tries to catch her off-guard so he can snatch the painting of the sunset, but Minyoung seems to know what he's up to. When he leans in, she leans back, hands still gripping the edge of the canvas. When he stretches out his arms, she clutches the painting close to her chest again and rests her chin on the frame. She looks up at Minseok with bright eyes and an equally bright smile, and a challenge written in the way she quirks up her lips. It's like looking at a mirror and seeing a younger version of yourself, a less guarded one. It's like seeing your life unfold right in front of you except you're not dying, not yet.

Minseok feels a part of him explode when Minyoung sticks out her tongue at him and lays the painting face down on the table. And then he feels a familiar sizzle of warmth creep up his spine, ease the knots in his shoulders, tense them up again as Minyoung grabs his hands and pulls him close for a dance.

There is no music, no rhythm to move to, but somehow they make it work – Minyoung leading Minseok and waving their linked arms about, motioning for him to twirl and urging him to do the same for her. The room is small, a bit cramped for dancing, and Minseok has always been used to big spaces for dances like this but he supposes he can make an exception. Only for this occasion, at least, when Minyoung's soft giggles blossom into a lovely peal of laughter, when Minseok almost misses a step. Because he doesn't have a choice, doesn't he? Minyoung pulled him into this tiny dance, pulled him into this mess. Minyoung grabbed him and told him, through the warm press of her palm on the back of his hand, _come on, oppa, you'll have fun! Trust me on this!_

He didn't put up a fight, and he doesn't intend to anytime soon.

He pulls away after what seems like too many hours, limbs sore and chest heaving. There's a crazy grin on his lips – he can feel the stretch at the corners of his mouth, the sting of it, but it's a good burn. His cheeks feel warm, too, but he manages to summon light laughter when he sees Kyungsoo's almost unintelligible message on KKT. _hyugn can u jst come over im coverd in paint sorry ill make it up to u,_ it says, and Minseok takes a deep breath before hitting the 'record' button, too lazy to type up a response.

"I'm bringing over some pizza. You don't have a choice," he announces, because it's only right for him to get even. It's not as if Kyungsoo gave him a choice when Kyungsoo slotted himself somewhere in Minseok's life, weasled his way into his schedule, carved a niche for himself there, left of his chest. Kyungsoo walked up to him, unannounced, and took him by surprise, mentioned something about the dancers in that art performance sucking. Kyungsoo fucking crept up to him and appeared during inopportune times and waited for that opportune moment to finally become friends with him. Somehow, that's how people always find Minseok – barging through the gates of his life without preamble, then stuttering back a few steps to ask, _is this okay? I'm not trespassing, aren't I?_

 _wow thx,_ is Kyungsoo's helpful reply. Silence, and then another beep – _grab some beer hyung itll be a long day._

Minseok stares at his screen for a few good seconds until Minyoung grabs his attention, forcibly makes him look up and look at the finished painting of the sunset. "Oppa can't have this until Christmas, though," Minyoung says, hiding the painting behind her back as soon as Minseok has gotten a good look at it. "Oppa will have to wait."

Minseok laughs a little. He's waited two decades. What's a few more weeks? So he presses another kiss to Minyoung's forehead and says, "Oppa will wait," doesn't say, _oppa's pretty impatient but okay, you can have your way._

"Oppa will wait for Minyoungie," he says one last time, then ruffles her hair. He straightens up, but doesn't let go of Minyoung's hand yet. He promises, "Oppa will be here for Minyoungie no matter what."

☄

The drive from Yeouido to Ilsan takes longer than expected. On an off-peak hour on a weekday, Minseok can get there in fifteen minutes, twenty with traffic, but with everyone in their cars, hitting the streets this weekend, it takes him twice as long to get to his destination. The initial fear of the pizza getting cold during the trip dissipates when he catches a whiff of its scent. He takes a picture of the box and the beer in the plastic bag that he'd gotten, then sends it to Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo's response is a series of characters that don't mean a thing when put together. Minseok doesn't press on, though, keeps his eyes on the road and his mind off the pizza. If Kyungsoo finds out that Minseok ate a slice during the trip, he'd… Well, he won't throw a fit, but he will give Minseok an empty look and proceed to setting aside Minseok's share.

Of course Kyungsoo would get two extra slices as payback. Then stick out his tongue and convince Minseok that handing over another slice is a good idea.

Minseok thinks he's got things figured out, three months and a turn of a season after. Kyungsoo isn't the easiest person to figure out, but once he does make it easy for people to see past the 'tough cookie' exterior, everything else is a breeze. Even breaching Kyungsoo's personal space and vice versa – knees rubbing against each other, or sticky arms pressed side-to-side – feels like having a phantom limb or wearing a second skin, this time one that keeps him warm more than traps him and leaves him gasping for air.

 _He just needs to make himself warm. Kyungsoo just loves feeling warm and fuzzy all over,_ Minseok reminds himself. He takes a left, then a right to the parking lot closest to Kyungsoo's house. It's a miracle he still remembers the route Kyungsoo had taken, the time they went here that fine evening. GPS makes staying on track easy; the playlist Kyungsoo had pulled up then, the same playlist Minseok has blaring in his speakers, makes not getting lost possible.

He pulls over at a parking spot and turns the engine off. _Walking to the building,_ he texts Kyungsoo, and takes the food from the passenger seat.

Kyungsoo's building is a good ten-minute walk away. The building is easy to spot – it towers over most of the buildings in area, and it's the only pastel yellow building in sight. He gives the receptionist Kyungsoo's flat number, and the lady gestures for him to head to the elevator. It hadn't sunk in at first, until Minseok had to retrace his steps the morning he woke up in Kyungsoo's bed, that Kyungsoo stayed at the penthouse of the building. It makes perfect sense, though – for an artist like Kyungsoo, a beautiful view is important. Moreover, the lighting there is good and the huge glass windows allow for soft light to fill the spaces of the flat. If Kyungsoo were ever to paint outside his art room, he won't have trouble looking for proper lighting. He can plop down on the floor and lie on his stomach and get to swishing his paint brush without any regret as long as the sun was still up outside.

Minseok laughs to himself. Kyungsoo _is_ quite a contradiction – an artist whose wild side manifests in his penchant for doing weird dances at one in the morning, yet a man who has a plan, sticks to it as much as possible, but can move his appointments around if he so wishes. Kyungsoo _is_ interesting, to say the very least.

He takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell. Kyungsoo is the best surprise he's gotten, and the only surprise he's willing to keep.

The Kyungsoo that greets him at the door isn't one he's accustomed to seeing. Disheveled hair, a smidgen of paint on the cheek, and then another, shirt too big and too loose for him and accentuating his narrow shoulders – this is the artist at work, not the Kyungsoo he saw back in the exhibit, the man who'd made him explain his paintings after a couple of glasses of wine. His grey shirt isn't safe from paint, either – there are blots of paint here and there, but none of them reek of the usual scent that the fluid gives off.

"Sorry. I was… in the middle of setting the washes on the painting," Kyungsoo says in apology, then reaches out to relieve Minseok of the burden of having to carry the food and the drinks.

Minseok doesn't say anything in reply, only marvels at the state of disarray that Kyungsoo is in. Only when Kyungsoo is a few good feet from him does he realize that there's nothing under the large shirt Kyungsoo is wearing, that he isn't wearing any pants or shorts. Instead, pale, paint-stained legs glare at him, blind him even with the soft lighting in the flat. He takes a deep breath, then, gulps hard as he traces the length of Kyungsoo's bare legs with his gaze, eyes twitching once he reaches north, setting on the gentle dip of Kyungsoo's back.

"I can't wash my hands yet," Kyungsoo says. "Please don't judge." He works on the tight knot of the ribbon around the pizza box, then cocks his head to the side. "Hyung, you should wash the cans. Can't be too sure – might've gone through dirty hands or something."

Minseok feels his throat again, muscles relaxing, and chuckles. "You're the one to talk."

"There's a difference between paint and dirt," Kyungsoo replies through gritted teeth. When Minseok looks over his shoulder, he finds Kyungsoo with a wry smile on his lips. "And I'd do it if I could but–"

"Yeah, I get it. You can't let your hands get wet or cold after spending hours working them hard," Minseok answers. He arranges the cans of beer in the fridge, then bumps his hip into Kyungsoo's when he passes him. "Chill. I'll feed you, if you want."

Kyungsoo looks up, eyes focused, _assessing._ The small upward tug of the lip on the corners of his mouth is a giveaway. "Oh?"

" _If_ you want." Minseok swats Kyungsoo's hands away and takes over scoring the pizza wheel through the spaces between the slices. "Or if you really need to. Maybe you have a secret technique when it comes to eating pizza with painted hands, I don't know."

Kyungsoo puts up a fight until halfway through his second slice. He's having difficulty tucking the rolled up pizza between his index finger and his thumb, the less-painted ones, and he gives up with a loud exhale and a grumble. "Please, hyung, I can't eat like this. This is torture," he says, pleading, and Minseok sticks out his tongue before complying. He moves to the other side of the table, pressing to Kyungsoo's side as he motions for Kyungsoo to open up, open wide, _I'm not going to play airplane with you just so I can feed you properly–_

Kyungsoo's lips wrap around the roll in a slow, languid manner. Once he's bitten off a generous portion, he leans back in his seat, pins Minseok with a stare. Crumbs have gathered at the corners of his lips. Minseok feels something inside him boil, a simmering heat at the pit of his stomach that's telling him to move closer, lean in, reach out to wipe off the crumbs on Kyungsoo's lips with a swift movement of the thumb and–

"Last bite," Kyungsoo says, then licks his lips as he leans forward. The corners of his mouth are turned up. The smile reaches his eyes, reaches out to grab Minseok by his shirt and make him move closer. Minseok feels his throat tighten again, feels explosions at the tips of his fingers. He wants to touch, to feel Kyungsoo's soft lips on his skin, his thumb, his cheek, the corners of his mouth and against his tongue, and Kyungsoo hasn't stopped leaning in. The half roll of the slice is greasy in Minseok's hand but damn if that still matters with Kyungsoo's pressing heat, the distance between them thinning with each passing breath.

"The pizza," Kyungsoo says, softer this time, almost like an afterthought. His gaze lingers on Minseok's mouth and Minseok nods. "Thank you."

Minseok forces his hand up, presses the pads of his fingers to Kyungsoo's mouth as he offers the remaining part of the roll. "I'll make it up to you," Kyungsoo promises between chews and licks, and Minseok only nods in response.

Beer is forgotten in favor of a few more slices and the promise of Kyungsoo bringing Minseok to the art room to show him what he's been working on the entire morning. "It's… It's a small project," Kyungsoo says, and Minseok laughs a little when he sees Kyungsoo fumbling with the hem of his shirt. He shouldn't, though, because it only exposes more his pale skin, only makes it more difficult for Minseok to look away. The lighting does nothing to make things better, only casts a soft glow on Kyungsoo and makes him look more pliant. The shy twist of Kyungsoo's mouth is just the icing on top.

"Don't touch anything," Kyungsoo warns before turning the knob. Minseok winks in response and crosses his fingers in front of Kyungsoo. "I'm serious, hyung. If you touch anything, I swear to God, I'll–"

"Wow," Minseok interrupts. He blinks a few times and looks at the materials on the table near the entrance of the room, then the huge canvas covering the floor. This isn't a small project by any means – the size of the canvas alone is enough a testament that it isn't. Minseok can make out some of the details of the sketch on the canvas, but the light washes of color blur the lines somewhat. All that's left is highlights and shadows in key places, motion lines that hint at what Kyungsoo is painting.

Minseok looks to his side, meeting Kyungsoo's gaze. "You scaled it up," he whispers, throat still tight and dry. He clears his throat, then, but it's no use – he feels as if all the wind has been knocked out of his lungs and Kyungsoo's keeping them in a bag, dangling it in front of him, teasing. "You said you were working on a small project but you scaled up that painting on your handkerchief–"

Kyungsoo looks away, then rubs the tip of his nose. "I've worked on bigger projects," he mumbles. He moves a few steps forward, and Minseok takes this as an invitation to move closer. "And besides, I've just laid down the foundation. I still– I still have to change a few things and finalize the motion line after you dance for me."

Minseok heaves a sigh. "Right. I promised I would."

Kyungsoo grins. "Then you'd be able to take The Nightwalker with you, give her a new home." Kyungsoo stretches his arms behind his back. "You'd like that, won't you?"

A half-truth, Minseok wants to say. He'd only been interested in the story of The Nightwalker at first, why she had stars on her cheeks and why she kept shielding her eyes from everyone's view. He just wanted to know the little girl in the painting better. But no – he had to discover who the painter was, had to meet him, had to spend time with him. He had to fall prey to the painter using him as a guinea pig for his upcoming project. He had to say yes to the painter's request to create a scene of dancers having fun on a canvas. He had to give in.

"Always been in it just for the painting, to be honest," he says, teasing. Kyungsoo gives him a pout, albeit a small one. The corners of his lips are struggling to keep it together, though, tugging up just a little.

Minseok walks closer to the edge of the canvas, then turns to look at Kyungsoo. "So, tell me about this painting."

Kyungsoo worries his bottom lip for a while before parting his lips to speak. No words come out, not even a sound, but he's doing this thing with his hands like he's trying to gesticulate the word he can't seem to pinpoint yet. "It's… It's a bigger version of the thing I left in your house," he says, then, and flexes his fingers. "Just… Just wait for it to be done. It's self-explanatory."

"Come on, it's the least you could do for making me feed you."

Kyungsoo snorts. "You gave me an option, hyung."

"I'm a kind and gentle soul," Minseok says. He sticks out his tongue and crouches near the canvas. "You said you… needed to see me dance?"

Minseok waits with bated breath as Kyungsoo holds his gaze and gives him a nod in response. He draws his shoulders back, then, and locks his arms behind his back in preparation. He scans the room a second time and stops midway to ask, "But where will I dance?" There's a canvas spread on the floor, and it will be hard to move along the narrow slits on either side of the canvas. It's an amateur-sounding excuse, but it's valid – hasn't danced this way in a while. He hasn't moved like the dancer that he is for the past two decades.

"Step on the paint container and dance on the canvas," Kyungsoo instructs. Minseok furrows his eyebrows at Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo only repeats his statement in response. "I said, get some paint all over your feet and dance on the canvas."

"But you– You're working on this painting _right now._ You've worked on it the whole morning, up until the time I got here." Minseok means to laugh, but all that comes out is a dry, clawing sensation creeping up his throat and spilling from his lips. "Are you serious?"

"Artistic license," Kyungsoo answers, winking, then steps inside the container with red paint. His feet disappear beneath the red liquid, and Kyungsoo quickly hops onto the canvas and moves around. "Come on, hyung. Remember, The Nightwalker is at stake."

 _But you're the Nightwalker,_ Minseok wants to say. Instead, he dips one foot into the container filled with yellow paint, shivering a little at the feeling of the cool liquid slithering between his toes. "I won't let you down."

The last time he attempted something like this was back in middle school, for the performance he'd done with the entire dance troupe. The output left much to be desired, but they were the talk of the town for days, weeks, _months._ And at the end of the day, it wasn't so much the weird, distorted image of a child doing a battle cry that was important – it was the _performance,_ the entire package. The way they'd laid down each stroke of paint on the canvas and what each motion, light or heavy, meant. He still remembers the adrenaline rush of doing something so different in front of a huge crowd, but the technique– It escapes his mind completely. "Focus," comes Kyungsoo's voice, soft yet commanding, and he does as he is told, lets himself be pulled to the center of the canvas.

"Dance with me," Kyungsoo says. He slides his palms up Minseok's chest, rests them there. The pulse on his hand is loud, heavy. The smile on his lips is blinding.

Minseok nods, firm and resolute. He snakes his arms around Kyungsoo's waist and whispers, "Let's do this."

Minseok points his right foot out, then tiptoes before transferring his weight onto that foot. Kyungsoo manages to follow, matching Minseok's movement step-for-step. Minseok walks to his left, eyes still fixed on Kyungsoo as if they're doing a tango, but this is anything but that. It's a free dance, void of set rules to follow. There isn't even any melody playing in Minseok's mind right now. All that there is is Kyungsoo's even breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest against Minseok's own, his loud and thundering pulse against Minseok's shoulder.

"Paint," Kyungsoo murmurs. Minseok nods, not missing a beat, and walks back to the containers to soak their feet in color.

The next set of movements is more familiar, more natural. There's a small tune in his head now, something that sounds a lot like the song Kyungsoo was humming that night in the intersection in Gangnam. The autumn wind was blowing hard against their faces then, and it was howling, yet Kyungsoo's voice soared above the soft noise and silenced the beating winds, somehow. It happens again, this time in the confines of the room, Kyungsoo's voice that was once soft and steady gaining volume as they move across the canvas. They're drawing lazy patterns on the material now, something Minseok can't seem to make out, but Kyungsoo keeps whispering, "Keep dancing. Don't look down. Look at me and just dance." So Minseok presses on, keeps one hand on Kyungsoo's waist and another on Kyungsoo's shoulder as they waltz forward, backward, to the side, traveling from one corner of the canvas to the other in a few quick steps, leaps.

"We're running out of–"

"Mhmm," Kyungsoo hums, then slides his hands down Minseok's arms. He threads their fingers together and pulls Minseok close, and then they're walking back to the containers, washing their feet with paint.

They develop a rhythm after a while where they don't have to remind themselves that they have to coat themselves with paint anymore. Minseok lets muscle memory guide him through the routine, lets his hands guide Kyungsoo as they move across the canvas. They're pacing faster now, running on tiptoe and leaping and _soaring,_ like there isn't the risk of slipping because of the paint, like they don't care. Kyungsoo has the silliest smile on his lips, eyes half-mast but unguarded, a smidgen of fresh red paint now on his cheeks. So Minseok returns the favor, opens up as he pulls Kyungsoo dangerously closer that the tips of their noses touch and he can feel the steady rise and fall of Kyungsoo's chest against his own.

"We're covered–" Kyungsoo chuckles, wrinkles his nose. Minseok laughs a little and presses closer, rubbing the tips of their noses together. Kyungsoo makes this disgruntled noise that sounds more like masked amusement. He twirls them around, then, until they Minseok feels his back press against the cold wall. For a moment, he's concerned that they'll be staining the walls, but Kyungsoo's eyes haven't left his lips yet, and he can feel the warmth between Kyungsoo's legs press against his own. "We're covered in paint, hyung."

"Your fault," Minseok says. Kyungsoo laughs again, this time in the crook of Minseok's neck as he buries his face in it. Minseok feels the light shift of Kyungsoo's muscles, the empty expression that once pulled his cheeks down now replaced by a strong force pulling his cheeks up, and it tickles him. It sends a weird, sinking sensation to the pit of his stomach, sends a sizzle of heat down his spine and his abdomen, and wraps itself around his heart, gripping it tight. This is all Kyungsoo fault – Minseok hadn't expected to stay in the exhibit longer than he should. He hadn't expected to find a kindred soul during that poor performance art event. He hadn't expected Kyungsoo to take his hand and _force_ him to dance, leave him without a choice but to give in.

He hadn't expected Kyungsoo to pull him out of his rut and save him. And he hadn't expected to want to be saved.

"This is your fault," Minseok whispers, voice so soft that he can simply be breathing. Kyungsoo turns his head a little, his warm lips pressed to the underside of Minseok's jaw. The sensation sends sparks to the tips of Minseok's fingers, sets off explosions at the back of his eye lids. So he says again, "Your fault," because what else is there to do? He knows he'll give in yet again – to the press of Kyungsoo's lips on his skin, to Kyungsoo's fingers splayed on his chest. To Kyungsoo's soft humming reverberating against his skin, seeping into his system. Resistance is futile.

And he likes it. He likes this grave he's dug for himself. It's unbelievably warm and cozy and nice. _Artistic license,_ says a voice that sounds a lot like Kyungsoo in his mind. So he grabs a brush – Kyungsoo's wrist, and brings it up, closer to his lips. He dips the brush into the paint – presses a light kiss to the back of Kyungsoo's hand. He runs the brush along the surface – presses staccato kisses on Kyungsoo's skin until he reaches the tips of Kyungsoo's fingers, stained with paint.

"No," Kyungsoo says, shaking his head. He drops his hand to his side and inches closer. "Yours."

They're at the bridge now, the part where the song peaks and percussion comes in, where the song reaches its full glory. They're supposed to be dancing and twisting and turning yet here they are, standing on the canvas with wet paint pooling at their feet. Here they are, foreheads pressed together, Kyungsoo's lips brushing against Minseok's own. Minseok waits for the that one sharp note, the misstep, the fall, but it doesn't come. Instead, Kyungsoo leans in, closes the distance between them with the light press of the lips. His mouth is warm against Minseok's own, and Kyungsoo licks at the seam of his lips, teasing his mouth open. Minseok hums a little before throwing his head back, lips falling open as Kyungsoo works his way inside with the gentle coax of the tongue. He feels his breath hitch when Kyungsoo licks the cavern of his mouth, when Kyungsoo sucks on the corners of his lips. When Kyungsoo gives his bottom lip gentle nips and he moans in response. He feels the slow-forming smile on Kyungsoo's lips as Kyungsoo sucks on his bottom lip and he wants more of it, wants to familiarize himself with that movement, the slow shift of the muscles. He wants to commit this dance to memory and do it again, and again, and again.

He snakes a hand up Kyungsoo's back and Kyungsoo seethes, shivers. The smile on his lips hasn't waned just yet, so Minseok sucks on Kyungsoo's bottom lip, licks the back of Kyungsoo's teeth, kisses him until he feels a dull ache in his jaw and his tongue and every part of him that Kyungsoo has touched. He can feel the burn in his calves, his inner thighs, his shoulders where Kyungsoo's hands are pressing down on him, but he doesn't mind. It's a good burn, one that is warm at best.

Kyungsoo's hot breath on his skin is a fever he's learning to live with, a step that was once a wrong turn but was salvaged by Kyungsoo's misbehaving hands, his wicked mouth, his playful tongue. He doesn't rush, though. There's time. If the song ever ends, they can take it from the top and dance again. The smile on Kyungsoo's mouth, lazy and dazed, tells Minseok Kyungsoo doesn't plan on stopping anytime soon.

Kyungsoo's mouth on his, the inelegant slide of their lips against each other, says the same thing, if not more.

☄

It takes half an hour for their bodies to cool down from the activity, and another ten minutes for then to get to their feet without feeling the urge to back each other against the wall. Kyungsoo, with his shaking hands, guides Minseok to the bathroom, and Minseok retracts his hand before twisting the knob because, "Is it okay if I get paint on this?" Kyungsoo's response is light laughter, and then he's threading his fingers between Minseok's own. He slots his hand there, a small press of the palm to the back of Minseok's hand, and turns the knob. Minseok swings the door forward and in they tumble, the tiles of the floor cold against their hot skin.

Kyungsoo turns on the shower, waits for a few seconds before setting the temperature to warm. "Can't be too sure," he explains. Minseok reaches out to test the waters, see if they're just the right amount of warm and not scorching hot, but Kyungsoo swats his hand away and says through gritted teeth, "I said, _patience._ "

"Not my strongest suit," Minseok reasons. It would've been if they weren't alone in this room, without the warmth of the steam drawing them closer. It had been easier to hold back before, to wait, wait, and wait some more, but the tap has been opened now and water is freely rushing down. The paint's been spilled on the canvas and Minseok can't wait to smear it all over Kyungsoo's body. They paused halfway through their little dance and Kyungsoo's testing these waters, and he's taking his sweet time, and Minseok wants to say, _you can't make me wait much longer._

"Just right," Kyungsoo whispers now, and then he's pulling Minseok under the spray. Water comes rushing down on him, making his hair stick to his face. Pearls of color leave stains on Kyungsoo's shirt and Minseok reaches out, trying to rub off the tint, but to no avail. It's stuck there, along with the blue pigment that has blotched on Kyungsoo's shirt, the yellow that pools on the dip of his collarbones. Red paint slithers down the contours of Kyungsoo's face and _finally,_ Minseok thinks – Kyungsoo's cheeks are finally a light shade of red.

 _You're stuck with me. You don't have a choice,_ says a voice in his mind. He smears some of that red paint on Kyungsoo's cheeks more, presses a light kiss to the tip of his nose before dropping his hands to his side.

Kyungsoo makes a small sound, lips in a weird twist, like he can't decide yet if he likes his cheeks being painted this color or if he likes _this setup_ – Minseok with his knee rubbing against Kyungsoo's inner thigh, Kyungsoo with his hands on Minseok's hips. "We can't wash up like this," Kyungsoo says, then, voice muffled by the crashing of the water down on the tiles.

"We can't," Minseok repeats. He leans back, chuckling, then slips his hands beneath Kyungsoo's shirt, soaked and stained with paint. "Not like this."

Minseok moves closer – one, two, three steps, until their knees bump. He feels a jolt shoot up his thighs, a sizzle of heat rolling down his abdomen. Only then does he remember that Kyungsoo isn't wearing pants, hasn't been wearing any bottoms since he had arrived. He takes in the sight of Kyungsoo's calves, then, the curves accentuated by paint, pale skin disappearing under so many layers of color. With a deep breath, he grabs a handful of Kyungsoo's shirt and lifts it.

Kyungsoo breathes through his nose, noisy, messy, and worries his bottom lip when Minseok's knuckles graze his skin. "You should come with a warning," he says in protest, but he doesn't push Minseok away.

Gaining confidence, Minseok grin and pins Kyungsoo with a stare. He's halfway through now, and he can see the soft grooves of Kyungsoo's abdomen. One sharp movement, and then Kyungsoo's face disappears behind the cloth. Minseok throws it to his side at the far end of the tub once he's pulled it over Kyungsoo's head all the way.

Kyungsoo takes it as his cue to do his part, fumbles with the hem of Minseok's shirt for a while. He runs his thumb along the underside of Minseok shirt and pulls it over Minseok's head in a swift motion, thumbs pulling at the collar to make it easier for Minseok to slip out of his shirt.

Minseok undoes the buckle of his belt even before Kyungsoo can start working on the waistband of his pants. Kyungsoo doesn't give him time to breathe, though, leaves kisses on his lips, his nose, his cheeks, his chin, coaxes a moan out of him with gentle nips on his bottom lip. Minseok shimmies out of his pants after a while, pushing it with his feet to his side, then presses close to Kyungsoo until he feels the slide of their thighs, the slapping of skin on skin. He runs his hand along the slope of Kyungsoo's back, then, settling on the dip of it before slipping his thumbs beneath the fabric of Kyungsoo's briefs. "Hyung–" comes Kyungsoo's sound of protest, and he finally gives in, pulls Kyungsoo's underwear down until Kyungsoo can slip out of it and push it to the side.

Kyungsoo ruts into Minseok as soon as he's free, his cock rubbing against Minseok belly. Minseok takes in a shaky breath, seethes at the sudden friction, and feels himself getting hard between his legs. Kyungsoo seems to catch on, snaking his arms around Minseok's waist and pulling him close, and Minseok lets out a gasp as he feels the slide of their cocks against each other.

"Can I?" Kyungsoo asks, then takes a small step back like he's giving Minseok a choice. Like he's saying, _hyung, if you don't want this, if you just want to paint and nothing more, then–_

Minseok can feel the cold press of Kyungsoo's fingers on his skin, can feel them trembling. His throat tightens, so he nods, three quick bobs of the head of the head before leaning forward to claim Kyungsoo's lips in a kiss. "Go ahead," Minseok says, nonetheless, just to make everything clear. He won't make the same mistake of expecting something to understand the curt nod, the soft smile, the light brush of their knuckles against each other. He's too old to be making the same mistakes. "Anything you want."

Kyungsoo slides his hand further south and gives Minseok's ass a gentle squeeze. "I want you," Kyungsoo says, voice so soft that he can be breathing. "Just you."

Minseok allows himself the leisure of laughing. He sucks on Kyungsoo's bottom lip, then the corners, and bites a bit too hard on Kyungsoo takes their cocks in his hand.

It isn't the most beautiful sight, seeing washes of color slither down their cocks, but Kyungsoo makes it work, tears Minseok's mind from logic and makes him focus on this moment, the slide of their dicks against each other, the friction and the warmth that comes to it. Kyungsoo starts with easy jerks, each stroke long and drawn out. Minseok repays Kyungsoo in kind, sucks marks along the slope of Kyungsoo's neck and gives his ear a light nibble. He feels the sudden shift in Kyungsoo's muscles, the way Kyungsoo's fingers tense around their warm cocks, the light squeeze that comes with it. He slides one hand down Kyungsoo's back, then, slips his thumb in the cleft of Kyungsoo's ass, and rubs slow and steady circles along Kyungsoo's rim.

"Fuck– Hyung–" Kyungsoo buries his face in the crook of Kyungsoo's neck. The loose fist he's pumping them in tightens, and Minseok feels his thighs tense, feels his knees lock and his breath hitch. His throat feels dry but he wants to cry out, to scream, chant Kyungsoo's name like a prayer to tide him through tough times. He wants to tell Kyungsoo so many things that not even the slow and gentle thrust of his finger inside Kyungsoo's ass can express. He wants Kyungsoo to know that this – this isn't a one-time thing. This doesn't end in a transaction.

When he walks away with the Nightwalker, he'll bring Kyungsoo with him. He'll give up his heart in exchange.

Kyungsoo moves faster, pumping harder with one hand and rubbing on their slits with the other. The warm press of his palm on their sensitive skin makes Minseok stop short, and he feels his abdomen coil when Kyungsoo clenches around his fingers. He presses on, though, twisting his fingers inside Kyungsoo, spreading them out as he stretches Kyungsoo thoroughly. He moves his hand to the rhythm of Kyungsoo's fist, the once slow jerks turning into erratic pumping with every movement. Kyungsoo presses down on Minseok's slit with his thumb and Minseok chokes, gasps, fingers tensing inside Kyungsoo.

"Kyung–soo– Oh my God–" Minseok cries out. He lets his face fall forward, lips pressed to the lobe of Kyungsoo's ear. Kyungsoo hisses at the contact but keeps stroking them, squeezing their balls from time to time, rubbing at the tips of their cocks sliding against each other. When Minseok feels his legs again, he adds a third finger inside, doesn't move until Kyungsoo's soft whimpers into shallow breathing.

"More–" Kyungsoo gasps against Minseok's shoulder, the beautiful sound muffled by skin. "Hyung, I can take more," he says, clearer now, even with the warm water rushing around them.

Minseok tilts his head to meet Kyungsoo's lips and drowns whatever words Kyungsoo meant to say, swallowing all of his tiny sounds, his whimpers, his choked groans.

Four fingers in now and Minseok feels Kyungsoo's weight press down on him, Kyungsoo's grip on their cocks tightening as Minseok twists his fingers inside Kyungsoo, moves in and out, developing an easy rhythm that Kyungsoo bucks his hips into. "Hyung, I'm going to–" Kyungsoo whispers, lips pressed to Minseok's skin, and Minseok reaches south, wraps his hand around Kyungsoo's own and moves Kyungsoo's loose fist up and down. He can feel the violent thumping in Kyungsoo's chest now, can feel the thundering pulse on his skin, can hear his heart beating against his rib cage as, together, they pick up pace – Kyungsoo jerking them both in fast strokes, and Minseok fucking Kyungsoo open with his hand. He can feel his stomach coiling so hard, can feel his thighs trembling, then–

"Hyung–" Kyungsoo's face falls forward and he comes, spilling all over Minseok's knuckles. His soft ah's catch on Minseok's skin, soft puffs of breath tickling Minseok. He doesn't stop pumping, though, and soon Minseok is coming, spilling his release on his belly. He lets of a low moan, coupled with soft whispers of _Kyungsoo, Kyungsoo, Kyung–soo–_ and he feels his knees going weak. He knocks them into Kyungsoo's own and Kyungsoo only chuckles, only gives his ass a light slap but doesn't move.

Later, once they've rinsed off the paint and they're already covered in suds, Kyungsoo says, "You can take home the Nightwalker now." Minseok chuckles, places a soft kiss to the tip of Kyungsoo's nose. Kyungsoo lets out a soft whimper, but the scrunch of his face eases as Minseok wipes the stray red paint on his cheek and covers the spot with suds, instead.

"But you're the Nightwalker," Minseok says. "Does that mean I get to take you home now?"

Kyungsoo worries his bottom lip and narrows his eyes as if he's reconsidering. Minseok gives his stomach a light pinch and then Kyungsoo relents, saying, "Fine, fine, you get to take me home, as well!"

"Good," Minseok whispers as he kisses a corner of Kyungsoo's mouth. "Because I won't go home without you."

Kyungsoo doesn't say anything, simply lets his lips fall open when Minseok licks the seam of his lips. "You're home now, hyung," he says. "You're home."

☄

Minseok rouses from his slumber at around eleven in the evening. It's more of his stomach at work than anything else, but Kyungsoo's occasional shifting just beside him can also be a reason. Kyungsoo is sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, a small canvas on his thighs. He's brandishing his paint brush in the air like there's something to paint on in the empty space, and he looks less like the man Minseok had seen in Kibum's exhibit months ago, more of the man who he met in that Greek restaurant one fine evening. He looks so… at ease like this, defenses down along with the pants he still refuses to wear. His shirt only covers a portion his of his thighs and Minseok should probably have enough sense to not interrupt Kyungsoo when he's waving a paintbrush about.

So keeps his hands to himself, mumbling, "Can't sleep?" Kyungsoo looks up from what he is doing, turns to Minseok with wide eyes and his hand shaking as he holds the brush firmly with his fingers.

"You're supposed to be asleep," Kyungsoo replies. He places the brush down on his bedside table, nonetheless, and stretches out to place the canvas at a far corner of the desk. "You're not supposed to be awake."

"You were moving around too much," Minseok reasons. Without art materials in Kyungsoo's hands, he's as good as defenseless, so Minseok moves closer, lets his fingers dance on the expanse of flesh, then sucks tiny red marks on Kyungsoo's thigh. "How can I sleep peacefully when you're moving around too much?"

Kyungsoo groans, but the sound is cut short by a hiccup and the grumble of his stomach. He chuckles. "You in the mood for pizza, hyung?"

Half past eleven sees them with a box of pizza in bed, cans of beer on the bedside table, and a bottle of kimchi tucked between Kyungsoo's legs. It's the easiest and quickest way to salvage their cold food, but neither of them are complaining. Kyungsoo seems to be content with donning his slice of pizza with kimchi and Minseok makes himself comfortable with his ice-cold beer. It almost feels like being a student again, maybe college, except none of Minseok's academic days were as strange yet fun and carefree as this. Funny how he can easily equate those years to him being forcibly thrust into this adult world. Funny how he can equate his older, riper years to something more fresh, like taking in a violenth breath of life and not regretting a single thing about it even if he's breathing noisily through his nose.

Kyungsoo won't judge, but he will laugh at Minseok. And he likes Kyungsoo's bright laughter a lot.

Kyungsoo reaches out, motioning to grab a can, but Minseok beats him to it, takes it even before Kyungsoo can run a finger along the rim. He takes two paper towels, then, and wraps the material around the body of the can, condensation making the tissue trace its contours. "You don't want to hold something that cold after working on a painting," he says. He catches Kyungsoo's faint laughter as he hands Kyungsoo the can wrapped haphazardly in paper napkin.

Kyungsoo cocks an eyebrow at him, but the smile on his lips is soft instead of teasing. "You learn fast, hyung," Kyungsoo says. "Next thing I know, you're already planning an exhibit of your own and you're already making a name for yourself as an artist."

Minseok shrugs, stretching his arms in front of him. "Nah. I plan to focus on dancing. I mean I'll be dancing again and then doing yoga on the side. I... I can't just leave Jongdae with the kids. It'll drive him insane."

"But he's already crazy."

"Valid point," Minseok mumbles. Kyungsoo lets out light laughter in response and drinks some of his beer in one big gulp.

Minseok takes a sip of his beverage and seethes when the cool alcohol crawls down his throat. It's a weird mix of hot and cold, but he'd like to think that he's had enough experience dealing with Kyungsoo compartmentalizing all the time, showing a side of himself to Minseok and nobody else and _then_ showing the distant, withdrawn side of him to everyone else. Months of dealing with Kyungsoo has taught him that the only way to fight the flow is to go with the current, so he takes another sip, downs a huge gulp, until he feels Kyungsoo slapping him on the thigh.

"You're not going home ass drunk, hyung," Kyungsoo warns. "I'm not letting you."

 _What are you gonna do, then,_ he wants to ask, but instead he keeps his lips pressed together, keeps his eyes fixed on Kyungsoo's own. Kyungsoo has a gaze that can pin people in place, has eyes so ablaze that Minseok feels a familiar sizzle roll down his abdomen. Kyungsoo juts out his bottom lip, then sticks out his tongue a little. Here Kyungsoo is, trying his best to display concern in the best way he knows. Yet, as always, the words escape him, dance on the tip of his tongue instead of spilling from his lips in a clumsy enunciation. And for all of Kyungsoo's use of violence – a slap on the arm, a pinch in the side – as a means of expressing affection, Kyungsoo doesn't really throw a fit in frustration. It takes too much energy and Kyungsoo prefers to save it for more important things – painting, dancing, catching dinner at a pizza place with Minseok. Keeping Minseok here, on his bed, instead of heading to where he'd parked his car earlier.

So instead, Kyungsoo huffs, growls under his breath, jabs Minseok on the arm _just a little_ when Minseok cocks an eyebrow at him as if in a challenge. "What? Are you going to chain me to your bed or something? Regulate my alcohol intake? Oh, _come on,_ " he says, finally giving in, and Kyungsoo rolls his eyes in a knee-jerk response.

"You didn't let me go home on my own before, when we..." Kyungsoo's voice trails off, and he tears his gaze from Minseok. He takes a stray pillow in his arms, instead, and clutches it close to his chest before adding, "It's risky, hyung. Don't drive home tonight. Just stay here."

"If this is a ploy to get me in bed again then you've got to think of another way to do it," Minseok teases. "Or you can just ask."

Kyungsoo hits him again, kicking him in the ankle this time. He doesn't speak for a while, simply drums his fingers on the pillow. "Fine. Stay here. Go home tomorrow, when you don't have alcohol in your system anymore, okay?" He takes a deep breath then looks up, finally meeting Minseok's gaze again. His eyes are hooded, a barricaded door, and for a moment Minseok thinks of retracting his statement. This started as a joke and now it's turning into some heated drama fest. And Kyungsoo hates drama.

"I lost my family to some bad romance between alcohol and cars. There, I said it," Kyungsoo confesses after a while. "My hyung? Drove his car into a post while he his brain was _swimming_ in alcohol. God, he's so stupid. My parents? Some drunk dude ran them over while he was turning a sharp curve. I mean– It's so stupid. He saw senior citizens crossing the fucking street and–" He scratches at the pillowcase with his index finger, winces when his nail catches on the zipper. It makes Minseok wince, too, makes him seethe even as he takes another sip of his beer. "And then I almost lost half of my body because some drunk guy driving a delivery truck slammed into my car. Thank God for therapy. That worked out great. Who knows what would've happened if it hadn't."

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and lets out a loud sigh, then shakes his head. "I'm sorry. Forget it. This is stupid. I thought I wouldn't have to go through this thing again, but–"

Minseok puts the can down on the bedside table and moves closer to Kyungsoo, sliding next to him. Under the sheets, the press of their thighs is warm and sticky. It's this brand of warmth that keeps Minseok in check, the type that he can get drunk on without the promise of running into a lamppost or another car or a person on his way home. He feels goosepimples on Kyungsoo's skin, though, like the mere memory of the accident scares him shitless and Minseok thinks, _there are people with experiences worse than yours, Minseok. He lost all of his family and you still have your sister – shouldn't you be happy?_ He shouldn't have tried to argue, should've just said yes because it makes perfect sense. Drunk people should never take a steering wheel in their hands. He should be holding Kyungsoo close, not pushing him away. He should be threading their fingers together instead of tracing patterns on Kyungsoo's skin – spirals, clouds, a heart.

"Hey, it's okay," he whispers. He nudges Kyungsoo in his side. "Let's just talk about something else. You don't have to tell me about this."

"It's not that I don't want to. It's more of…" Kyungsoo chuckles, but for the most part what comes out is bitter laughter like he finds the whole _stuttering about his past experience_ situation funny. It isn't. It's heart-wrenching because Kyungsoo kept quiet about all his car turmoils while Minseok went on, brandishing his sad story as they danced along the Han. Kyungsoo brings him back to _this moment,_ though, pressing down hard on the back of his hand. "I don't want to mess up the story so I'm trying to think of the best way to narrate it?"

"Ah," Minseok says. He laughs a little. "Of course. You'd want everything to be perfect."

Kyungsoo snorts. "I just don't want to blow it up again and feel bad about it anymore. It's been a decade. I'm over it. Almost, at least. But–" He looks at their intertwined hands, then turns them over. He starts tracing patterns on Minseok's palm, straight lines that meet at an intersection. Minseok giggles at the light brush of Kyungsoo's nail along his skin. "Yeah. I just don't want to feel so burdened by the whole thing again. I'm sure my family won't want that, either."

Minseok looks to his side, then offers, "You can always paint over it."

The rush of tickles stops. For a moment, Minseok's taken aback, but then Kyungsoo's shifting in his seat and pinning him with a searching gaze. "Huh?"

"You told me before," he begins, turning over their hands pressed together then splaying his fingers on his thigh. He hooks the pads of his fingers on Kyungsoo's own, then, and relishes the warmth for a moment before continuing. "You told me before that when artists screw up their paintings, they try to salvage the art by painting over the tiny mistakes. Add another light wash to make the painting look more... I don't know. Vintage? Old? Some people like it like that, yeah?"

Kyungsoo chuckles. The weird twist of his mouth says otherwise, though, like he's thinking, _this is really fucked up._ He could be reconsidering the situation, keeping Minseok _here_ beside him, on his bed. He could be wondering what made him think of dragging Minseok to that canvas for a dance, even. He only makes a small, almost inaudible sound, though – of protest or disgruntlement, Minseok can't tell yet. It's a sound so faint that he fears how loud and rattling it would be if Kyungsoo parted his lips _just a bit more_ and made the same sound.

"Art is a matter of taste," Kyungsoo says after a while. The blankets rustle. Kyungsoo is probably wiggling his toes under the sheets. Kyungsoo never did this when they were soaking their feet with paint. "And sometimes there are pieces of art that are just... beyond repair. So you have to accept that they're ugly, that they'll always be ugly. Maybe someone will… I don't know, find them nice in the future?" Kyungsoo heaves a sigh and leans back even more into his pillow, eyelids fluttering closed as he blows at his bangs. "Because if you keep trying to cover up all those flaws, you'll just end up with something worse. Uglier. Something… repulsive."

 _Strong words,_ Minseok thinks. Kyungsoo's neither smiling nor frowning, though, and that lifts the tension in his muscles a bit.

"Then choke it up to artistic license," Minseok says after a while. Kyungsoo opens one eye, and then another, and soon he's sitting back up, giving Minseok _that look again._ Minseok takes this as a challenge, tackles it head on when he swings his leg over and straddles Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo hasn't moved yet, hasn't uttered a word, but the look on his face spells nothing but _what the actual fuck, hyung_.

"Maybe you're just weird and you like your art like that," Minseok continues. "Maybe you like ugly things. Maybe you like wrecked pieces of art. You can't be alone in your weirdness, come on," Minseok says, voice lilting, and Kyungsoo juts out his bottom lip in response. Kyungsoo's shoulders are no longer stiff, no longer held up in a straight line that he looks like some high school student being lectured about arriving late in class or passing a really bad assignment. The furrow of his eyebrows has eased, too, but the corners of his mouth are still a bit tight. Chuckling, Minseok leans closer, presses both of his thumbs on the corners of Kyungsoo's lips and gives them a light press.

And then Minseok pinches Kyungsoo's cheeks and Kyungsoo threatens to bite his fingers off. "I'm heartless," Kyungsoo mumbles, then chomps his teeth. "You don't want to mess with me, hyung."

 _You've made a mess out of me,_ Minseok wants to say. _You've turned me into a mess and fixed everything else._ Instead, he says, "Not heartless. Just weird. So maybe you just have to look at the painting from a different angle. Flip it around or something."

"But the paint's still wet," Kyungsoo argues. "And you can't just risk having the paint smear all over the other areas where it _isn't supposed to be there–_ "

" _Artistic license,_ " Minseok repeats, leaning much closer than before. The tips of their noses touch, and he's close enough that he catches a hint of pizza and kimchi and beer in Kyungsoo's breath. And a tinge of fatigue, too, in the tiny yawn that escapes Kyungsoo's lips. He places a soft kiss on the tip of Kyungsoo's nose, then, and pushes Kyungsoo back into his pillow. "You're tired. Get some rest. We'll have great coffee tomorrow."

"We?" Kyungsoo asks. He grabs a fistful of Minseok's shirt and pulls him close, keeps him from pulling away. "You'll stay the night?"

Minseok cocks an eyebrow at him. "Didn't you say–"

"I didn't think you'd actually do it. I mean–" Kyungsoo scrunches his nose, twists his fist into Minseok's shirt even more. Minseok scowls when Kyungsoo's knuckles dig into his skin. "Sorry."

They've just started eating and they still have at least half a can each of their beer, so instead of convincing Kyungsoo to get some rest, he rolls what's left of Kyungsoo's pizza slice and brings the roll close to Kyungsoo's lips. "Say aah," he says, grinning when Kyungsoo grimaces. He could save himself from the humiliation of being turned down by Kyungsoo if he ever thinks of not eating the slice. He could eat the pizza he'd rolled up, himself. And Kyungsoo can push him away because this kind of comfort? Kyungsoo hadn't asked for it. Kyungsoo just asked Minseok to dance with him and _for_ him, that's all. Kyungsoo asked Minseok to act silly with him.

But Kyungsoo hasn't pushed him away yet. Kyungsoo pulls him closer, ignoring the pizza in favor of Minseok's lips. Between soft nips on Minseok's bottom lip, he whispers, "Thank you," then swallows whatever Minseok plans to say with a lick along the cavern of Minseok's mouth, the back of Minseok's teeth. For a moment, Minseok's worried that pizza, beer, and the stink of sleep in his mouth don't make a good mix, but Kyungsoo keeps kissing him. So he keeps giving, parts his lips even more, tightens his hold on the pizza because _what if, what if, what if Kyungsoo suddenly comes around–_

"No. Thank _you,_ " Minseok answers when Kyungsoo leans back for a moment to breathe. Kyungsoo sucks in his bottom lip, traps it between his own teeth. "Thank you for getting me out of my slump. And thanks for bringing me and my sister closer."

Kyungsoo chuckles. "That wasn't me, hyung. That was art. And you – you did a lot of the dirty work."

He thinks of watching Minyoung through the glass and the clawing pain at his chest everytime he has to leave without even saying 'goodbye' to Minyoung. He thinks of Minyoung hugging him so tight before he left this afternoon. He thinks of Kyungsoo urging him to attend the awarding ceremony and the exhibit with the gentle coax of a KKT message, thinks of Kyungsoo asking for his hand for a silly dance at one in the morning. Then he remembers taking one step forward to reach out for Kyungsoo's hand, and then another to take Minyoung in his arms, and then one more before he runs on the canvas to dance – to create art with Kyungsoo.

"You and me and art," Minseok replies. He presses his lips on Kyungsoo's again to keep Kyungsoo from retaliating, and grins when he feels the sound of protest melt against the open press of his mouth. Kyungsoo pinches him in his stomach and he yelps, but he gets back on track, sucks on Kyungsoo's top lip, and then his bottom lip. Kyungsoo drops his hand to Minseok's thigh and Minseok presses closer, kisses Kyungsoo harder. He kisses Kyungsoo again and again until his jaw aches and his lips feel so warm and swollen against Kyungsoo's own.

He stays in this dance, this crazy pirouette they're trying to perfect. Kyungsoo is a force that keeps reeling him in, a pull stronger than gravity. So he lets himself be swept away – by the music in his head, the fluid stroke of Kyungsoo's brush, the inelegant slide of their mouths. He doesn't fight it. He doesn't fight back.


	5. Chapter 5

Minseok waves at the parking attendant and flashes him a smile. He can still remember Kyungsoo's instructions from half an hour ago, while they were still eating breakfast. "Tell him you're with the guy living at the penthouse. Maintain eye contact even after he swipes my card. Remember to smile, hyung; you can't look grumpy at this hour, especially not to him." Kyungsoo even made this weird smiling face that was cute enough to elicit light laughter from Minseok even before he's had coffee. Somehow, it was funny that Kyungsoo was the one reminding him not to wear a frown at an early hour, or even a look of nonchalance as he drives out of the parking lot. Between the two of them, Minseok knows that Kyungsoo's aware of how his own face moves, how he looks at eight in the morning. Minseok's not the one being called a bully by his friends; that's Kyungsoo.

 _hyung i might be early ISN'T THAT GREAT?? :D_ Jongdae says on KKT. Minseok only glances at the message, doesn't reply until he's driven off and is well outside the premises of Kyungsoo's neighborhood. There's a stoplight near the expressway to the other side of the river; he can answer Jongdae's message there. For now, he focuses on two things: his drive, and the fact that he's heading to Yeouido on a Sunday morning.

He beats Jongdae to the location by a good five minutes. "With parking," Minseok notes, but envelops Jongdae in a bone-crushing hug, anyway. Jongdae tries to wiggle free from his embrace, but if anything it only looks as if he's trying to find a more comfortable fit. Minseok can't blame Jongdae – his arms are slotted on either side of Jongdae's waist in an awkward position that makes hugging Jongdae such a chore. And then there's the cool winter breeze. Jongdae hates the cold. So he wraps his scarf around Jongdae's neck as soon as he pulls away, then pulls Jongdae closer by the scarf to ruffle his hair.

"I should never race with you, _ever,_ " Jongdae grumbles. He digs his hands into his pockets, then turns to Minseok with furrowed eyebrows. "Doesn't it take an hour to get here from Gangnam? I mean, you told me that you were leaving at 8:30–"

"It does. And I did," Minseok answers. He doesn't meet Jongdae's eyes, keeps his gaze fixed on the path ahead of them. It's not as if Jongdae won't _know_ where he'd been the night before; Minseok just plans to make weeding out an answer from him harder for Jongdae.

"You came from somewhere closer," Jongdae says. There's a certain edginess to his voice that makes him sound as if he's _accusing_ Minseok, albeit playfully. He hums for a while, then continues, "Ilsan?"

"Could've stayed somewhere in Hongdae, you know." Minseok wiggles his fingers in his pocket and a nail gets caught in the keychain of his car key. He grimaces. "Or Myeongdong. Or Insadong. Or–"

"In the streets, because you like living a simple life." Jongdae rolls his eyes but moves closer, falling into step with Minseok. He hooks an arm around Minseok's own and pulls him much closer, elbow digging into Minseok's side. "Come on, spill! This is me, hyung. _It's just silly old me._ Do you think I'll ever judge you for deciding to sleep in the subway station or something?"

Minseok snorts. That's the thing – Jongdae isn't just any other friend Minseok met back in middle school or high school, not some like-minded person he'd met in college and shared his passion for art with. Jongdae _is_ Jongdae, and Jongdae has seen him fall from grace and rise back from the ashes. With a few hiccups, of course, but Jongdae accepted him just the same. Jongdae saw Minseok graduate from diapers to real underwear when they were still neighbors, and eventually to non-superhero printed boxers when they were living in the same house and it was Jongdae's family who was raising Minseok. Jongdae watched him grow, no matter how twisted it sounds, and Minseok has watched Jongdae turn into this fine young man he's become. They know each other like the back of their hands, know each other probably more than themselves. He knows that the lilt in Jongdae's voice means he's got everything figured out; he's just waiting for Minseok to tell him about whatever it is that needs to be said, waiting for Minseok to make a fool of himself.

He knows that the quirk of Jongdae's lips means _You've kept me away from this aspect of your life for a long time already, hyung. You can't deny me this, now._

"Ilsan," Minseok confesses just before they take the stairs to the second floor. Jongdae makes this small sound of amusement. "I stayed the night at Kyungsoo's. He used me as a model for one of his paintings." He rubs the tip of his nose and wishes, wishes really hard, that Jongdae won't press on, but the silence makes Jongdae overeager, makes Jongdae grab him by the wrist and jerk him back to _this moment._ "We danced."

Jongdae's grin falls into an awkward frown and he pinches Minseok in the stomach. "Is that some new euphemism for 'we had sex'?"

Minseok coughs. He tries to free himself from Jongdae's grasp, but to no avail. Jongdae's hold is just as strong as his need for answers. "Maybe?"

" _Hyung._ "

"What?" Minseok tears his eyes from Jongdae's own, breaking the contact. It's not completely a euphemism for 'hey, your hyung got laid!' He _did_ dance with Kyungsoo, but Jongdae doesn't have to know that they had paint all over their bodies then, or that they'd helped each other wash the paint from their hair. Jongdae doesn't have to know that Kyungsoo looks so pretty when he's flustered and flushed with heat and his skin glows a bright shade of pink. Jongdae doesn't have to know that Minseok still has most of his dancing skills intact and that he dances pretty well in bed, as well. What he _does_ have to know, though, is that he'll miss a step if he keeps shaking Minseok by the shoulders. "We _danced!_ "

"Just that? Oh _come on!_ " Jongdae slaps him on the arm this time, but they're harmless hits. At best, they sting just a little, hurt when Jongdae's nails catch on his skin. "You can't just spend the night at the flat of a guy with a really nice ass and _not_ get laid!"

Minseok looks up, peeking through his bangs. He worries his bottom lip for a while. "What if we just like talking? A lot?"

"Talking with your hands and your dick. I get it, hyung. You can't say _the S word._ "

"Oh, fuck you." Minseok kicks Jongdae in the ankle. Jongdae yowls in response, but quickly clasps a hand on his mouth. "Fine. We danced _and_ touched and maybe did something that involves a lot of touching–"

"I'm never going to get a straight answer out of you."

"We had sex. In the shower. Rinsed paint off our hair. Washed paint off each other's bodies–"

The corners of Jongdae's lips pull up in a shit-eating grin one minute, and then they fall into a nasty scowl that spells disgust more than anything else the next. "Ew, hyung, I didn't have to know!"

Minseok rolls his eyes but doesn't miss the way Jongdae's eyes twinkle, the way Jongdae chuckles _oh-so-faintly_ that he almost doesn't hear it. He takes a few steps forward, then reaches for Jongdae. Jongdae takes his hand without hesitation.

The weird thing about being in Lucky on a Sunday isn't the fact that they're here but the fact that they're walking along the corridors hand-in-hand. All too soon, Minseok is brought back to the past, those days when the mere thought of going to Lucky scared him shitless until Jongdae held his hand. They'd walked down this aisle too many times already, fingers intertwined, for Minseok to not know what will happen next: Jongdae won't pull away with an easy smile when they see Minyoung, but he will pull Minseok closer and whisper, "Together?"

"Can't believe I'm seeing you two here on a Sunday," comes a familiar voice from behind. Minseok feels Jongdae's fingers stiffen between his own, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing. He does Jongdae a favor and pulls away even before Li Yin can notice. "Nice to see you after… texting you last night, Jongdae."

Jongdae looks over his shoulder, confident grin dissolving into a weird, awkward smile. The stretch at the corners makes Jongdae look like some love-struck high schooler, and maybe he is, Minseok muses. Li Yin has been a volunteer here since her third year in high school and Jongdae fell in love with her hair the first time he saw her. "It's the smile," he'd always say, but Minseok would always reiterate that he remembered everything. He can still remember the look on Jongdae's features when Li Yin brushed the stray strands of her hair away from her face, the look on his face when Li Yin tucker her hair behind her ears, gave him the most beautiful smile, and said, _you're a really nice guy, Jongdae. Just… too young. Too young for me. But you're cute._

He can still remember the pained look on Jongdae's features when he said, trying hard to choke down regret, _it's okay._ Minseok also remembers all the money he'd spent buying Jongdae all sorts of sweets just so Jongdae would smile again. Joonmyun took over consoling duties after that, and at the end of the week they were both zapped and Jongdae was bouncing on the balls of his feet. It paid off – he got to see Jongdae smile again, and Joonmyun fell asleep with his head on Minseok's lap. The thought still makes his heart ache a bit, but for the most part it's nostalgia at work. Nostalgia always brings a certain brand of pain with it; Minseok hasn't found a way to salvage _this_ painting completely just yet.

"Noona! Perfect timing. I just about to text–"

"You were able to send the message," Li Yin replies. She addresses Minseok with a curt nod, then turns back to Jongdae with a smile. "Minyoung's in the warmer chambers. Would you like me to call Sunyoung or do you want me to just bring you over?"

Minseok tries really hard not to cackle, but a hint of laughter slips from his lips just before he gulps down hard. "I think Jongdae would prefer the latter," he answers, grinning. Li Yin narrows her eyes at him, but she's still smiling. It isn't her polite smile, either; it's her _you two are the silliest siblings I have ever seen_ smile. "Sorry for the bother, noona, and thanks in advance."

The walk to Minyoung's room isn't as animated as Minseok imagined it to be, but it _is_ entertaining. He sends Kyungsoo a blow-by-blow account of Jongdae's attempts at making conversation and Li Yin's amused replies. Kyungsoo's responses are short and curt, and whatever he lacks in proper verbal expression, he makes up for in stickers. Kyungsoo sends him a flurry of characters laughing their asses off and he loses it, but only for a split-second – Jongdae looks over his shoulder with a half-smile, half-scowl thing going on with his lips and Minseok only holds up a peace sign in response.

"Sunyoung's on leave, Minseok. Sorry I didn't tell you sooner. Jongdae was really fun to watch," Li Yin tells him in confidence later, towards the end of their walk. She glances over her shoulder and giggles when Jongdae flashes the brightest smile at her. "You two have anything planned after this?"

Minseok hums for a while, until Li Yin pins him with a stare. He laughs a little. "Do you want us to have anything planned?"

"I'm just saying," Li Yin begins, "that if you ever have to leave Jongdae to have lunch with someone, you could tell him to stay with Minyoung a little longer or accompany me for lunch."

"You tell him that, noona," Minseok replies. He grins at Li Yin, then knocks on Minyoung's door thrice. The shuffle of feet makes his insides turn, but it's a good lurch. "I'm sure he'll be _thrilled_ to know that you think you can cure his boredom."

"You are the _worst_ hyung ever. The worst enabler."

"Thanks, noona," Minseok chimes. "I know I'm amazing."

Li Yin turns on her heel and approaches Jongdae. Minseok tears his gaze from the two at the sound of the door opening, and greets Minyoung with a hug.

If Minyoung is bright and upbeat on most days that Minseok visits, she's even more engaging with Jongdae around. She drops bits of memories – "Oppa braided my hair before, right? I can't remember much but… Ah, I know he didn't do so well…" She teases Jongdae at every opportunity, too, tries to make him hold a paint brush but only succeeds in smearing paint all over his fingers. Jongdae doesn't complain, though, not even when Minyoung reaches up to paint on his cheeks. He doesn't even ask, _is this hypoallergenic?_ He keeps his eyes on Minyoung, indulges her in her stories and painting exploits and in painting on his skin.

And Minseok watches them from his seat at a corner of the room, fishes for his phone from his pocket and pulls up Kyungsoo's KKT window. He takes a snapshot of the scene and texts Kyungsoo, _wish you were here,_ and Kyungsoo's response is a helpful, _what if I already am?_

 _Don't be silly,_ Minseok says. _You said you were busy doing your syllabus thinggie for your art lessons tomorrow._

Three soft knocks on the door, then a message from Kyungsoo – _what if I finished that last night and didn't go with you at first because I know you wanted to spend some time alone with your brother? :)_

Shit, Minseok thinks. He hadn't bargained on Kyungsoo to be this perceptive. He didn't mean to give himself away.

Minyoung looks over her shoulder and grins when she sees Kyungsoo through the window. He meets Kyungsoo's gaze from a few feet a way and the corners of his mouths tug up on impulse. He knows Jongdae's watching him, watching how he reacts to Kyungsoo's every move and every shift of Kyungsoo's muscle when they finally see each other without the barrier of the door to keep them apart, but can't be bothered to give a fuck. All that matters right now is this – Kyungsoo appearing at Minyoung's doorstep unannounced, to surprise Minseok in more ways than one. An all-consuming feeling gripping Minseok's heart tight, making his breath hitch. The allure of Kyungsoo's smile easing the tension in his throat and making his lips twitch in response, as if Kyungsoo's smile is an invitation.

The warm press of Jongdae's palm on his shoulder as he says, "He really has a nice ass," and then adds, "I approve of him. He makes you smile. Nothing makes you smile anymore these days."

"I don't need your approval, _kid,_ " Minseok says in a last ditch effort to put up a fight. Jongdae humors him, narrows his eyes at him a little before sticking out his tongue. "But thanks. Glad to know."

Jongdae walks over to where Minyoung is and tickles her, effectively grabbing her attention. Over Minyoung's shoulder, he mouths, _I'll take care of her._

Minseok sticks out his tongue in response because that's what mature people being reduced to love-sick teenagers do. He doesn't quite fit the role yet, but he's slowly easing himself into this _being perfectly contented with everything_ business.

Kyungsoo plays with Minyoung for a while before resuming in his steps towards Minseok. "Hi," he says, voice so soft he can be whispering, and scoots just a bit closer until the tips of their toes touch. Minseok doesn't say anything, simply holds Kyungsoo's gaze and takes a deep breath when Kyungsoo inches closer. Their faces are a few good inches apart and there's enough space to breathe, but Kyungsoo's big presence makes the room feel so small. And maybe Minseok doesn't feeling trapped in this cramped room if he has Kyungsoo pressed so close to him – chest to chest, heart to heart. Maybe he doesn't mind sharing Kyungsoo's breath or Kyungsoo taking all of it away. Or maybe he does. A part of him still thinks that his whole life is a mess and that Kyungsoo has made a ruckus out of his organized chaos, but then Kyungsoo salvaged himself, right? Kyungsoo found a way to save face when he brought Minseok and Minyoung closer. He forced Minseok to dance again _and then_ made Minseok realize what he'd been missing all this time. He forced Minseok to turn his back on all the bad memories south of the river and move forward, move north, and never look back.

And Kyungsoo's here now, done with his syllabi, one hand on Minseok's hips and the other on Minseok's shoulder.

"Hyung, say something," Kyungsoo whispers. He juts out his bottom lip. "I should've waited until lunch, yeah? I figured you probably didn't want Jongdae to see me but–"

"You're crazy," Minseok finishes. He grabs a fistful of Kyungsoo's shirt – black, so he can contain all the color inside his body and keep the magic _there_ – and pulls him a few inches closer. "And he knows now. Told him earlier. He seemed… thrilled."

"Excited!" comes Jongdae's bright voice. It's probably a comment about Minyoung's new painting but it works for this one, too.

"Well, you have weird friends," Kyungsoo answers. He licks his bottom lip but pulls away, takes a step back. He has an index finger on Minseok's chest, though, like he means to say, _Not now. Maybe later. Not here, but please know that I want you._ "I like them."

Minseok chuckles. "And I like you."

" _Oh,_ " Kyungsoo says in reply, lips falling open in a tiny 'o'. The flush creeping up his neck narrowly misses his cheeks, burns bright in his ears and pulls up at the corners of his mouth. "I… like weird, too," Kyungsoo whispers, like he can't believe what he's saying or he isn't quite sure yet. Or that he is, just that he doesn't want to admit it yet. Either way, the crisp answer is written in the way the corners of his eyes crinkle as the smile on his lips blooms into something brighter, bigger, _bolder._ Minseok doesn't look away, waits for Kyungsoo to burst into light and into a lovely peal of laughter, and holds his breath as he marvels at the smile lighting up Kyungsoo's features.

"I like you, too," Kyungsoo confesses between gulps and a nip on his lip. He shakes his head, as if in an attempt to rewrite this moment, what he'd just said, and resurfaces with lips struggling to stay pressed in a tight smile. "I mean, I really like you. Not in the way that I like the smell of paint and shampoo and rough canvas and–"

"I know. I get it," Minseok says. He looks around for an audience and presses a finger on Kyungsoo's lips when he sees Jongdae busy with painting with Minyoung. He could kiss Kyungsoo here, out in the open, with Minyoung and Jongdae as witnesses, but he doesn't. He doesn't want to rush things, doesn't want to screw up. He doesn't want the magic to fade all too quickly when he's just figured out a trick of his own. So he presses a palm flat on Kyungsoo's finger on his chest, instead, then draws the lone digit close to his lips for a light kiss. Kyungsoo makes this weird, unintelligible sound at the back of his throat. He knows this, too – the makings of hiccuped laughter form Kyungsoo, the beginning of an even deeper blush on Kyungsoo's skin. He knows Kyungsoo like the veins on his palm, the back of his hand.

Kyungsoo flashes his teeth at Minseok, makes a faint hissing sound. It could mean, _stop doing that, you're really weird._ Alternatively, _you've got to warn me for these things, hyung. You can't catch me off-guard all the time._

"Sure, I can," Minseok mumbles.

"Shut up," Kyungsoo says. He gulps, then amends his statement, saying, "Please shut up, _hyung._ "

Minseok only shakes his head and snakes an arm around Kyungsoo's shoulder to pull him closer. Minseok thinks he's got Kyungsoo memorized by now, has all of his quirks and antics pinned down, but Kyungsoo surprises him again, slides an arm around his waist and tiptoes. He reaches up, then, ruffling Kyungsoo's hair in lieu of kissing his senseless, but Kyungsoo does the unimaginable again, exacts revenge by pressing his l`ips on the underside of Minseok's jaw. Minseok feels the shift of Kyungsoo's muscles in the press of their bodies. Kyungsoo places a light suck there and Minseok freezes, fingers numbing, chest constricting. And then another – Minseok gasps but is quick to swallow the sound, but not quick enough to push Kyungsoo away. None of it happens for more than a few seconds, but Minseok feels as if he's held his breath forever, hoping for Kyungsoo to knock back the wind in his lungs or take the last slivers of his breath away.

"Payback," Kyungsoo says, grinning. Minseok gets this one, too. He gets this whole push and pull and _let's fall together and laugh our asses off at each other, hyung_ thing. And if he doesn't have everything figured out yet, he can always spend a lifetime studying Kyungsoo and all of his facets, the wicked contours of his body, until he gets everything right.

That's an entertaining thought, he muses. He tilts his head and presses a light kiss on Kyungsoo's forehead, then pulls away before Kyungsoo can react.

He likes it a lot.

☄

Jongdae orders more ice cream than Minseok had expected during lunch. "I was close, _so close_ to taking her out on a date but she just _had_ to cancel at the very last minute!" Jongdae whines before taking another spoonful off his cup. He twists his mouth, licks off the remaining ice cream on his lips, then dunks the spoon in the last untouched scoop in his cup. It's become routinary already, the entire process, but Minseok still can't help but since everytime Jongdae slots the spoon between scoops of ice cream, each repetition bearing more force than the previous. "I mean, who even remembers that she's taking an extra shift _on a Sunday?_ "

"More ice cream?" Kyungsoo offers, pushing the menu in Jongdae's direction. There's a small smile at the corners of his lips. It looks out of place, with the light furrow of his eyebrows. Minseok almost chuckles but he manages to keep it together, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from making any noise. Kyungsoo hasn't quite gotten accustomed to Jongdae yet – his presence, his ways, despite Minseok's many tales about him – and it's Jongdae's first time sitting opposite Kyungsoo and actually _talking_ to him. So the delay in response is expected. Kyungsoo's eagerness to sell Cork for Turtle's wasabi ice cream, as well. "Seriously, it's good. Best flavor I've ever tasted. Not that I have ice cream often but– You get what I mean."

"It's good," Minseok assures Jongdae. He turns to Kyungsoo, saying, "Better than the matcha one, right?"

Kyungsoo nods, vigorous and enthusiastic. "And it's the best way to counter the bitterness in your heart. I mean, it's like adding spice to your life," Kyungsoo says. His lips quiver when Jongdae lets out a small sound of confusion. Kyungsoo laughs, choked and awkward, then turns to the server to say, "Three orders, please? And please serve my con panna. Extra hot."

"Certainly, sir," says the server. She turns to the other two and gives them a curt nod. "Whipped cream to go with your ice cream?"

Minseok flashes two thumbs up – one for him and the other for Jongdae. Jongdae mumbles, "I'm so lost," in response.

Fifteen minutes and a few licks of wasabi ice cream after, Jongdae does start laughing again. He remembers, after careful prodding from Minseok, that Li Yin _did_ promise to make it up to him and pencil-pushed an 'appointment' with him already. "You've got to teach me those art things, hyung. She wants to see an exhibit! There has to be an exhibit somewhere next week!" Jongdae pleads.

Out of the corner of his eye, Minseok catches Kyungsoo fishing for his phone and scrolling through a long body of text. He can't make out the details, but he can see boxes and color blocks and–

"Is she into performance art?" Kyungsoo asks. He shows his phone to Jongdae, then continues, "There's a show in Insadong on Thursday. She might be interested in that."

"She likes art and hot boys," Minseok answers.

Kyungsoo bites hard on his lower lip. "I don't think so, hyung."

Under the table, Minseok kicks Kyungsoo in the ankle. He rests a hand on Kyungsoo's thigh, though, and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Let's pretend, for a minute, that Jongdae falls under that category–"

"I think she is," Jongdae finally answers. He looks up at the two, bright-eyed and grinning. Minseok chuckles. Maybe Li Yin is into kids. Jongdae plays the part really well. "Yeah, I think she is. I'll go ask her, just in case. But thanks, Kyungsoo…ssi? What do you want me to call you?"

Kyungsoo hums, then offers a soft smile. "Just Kyungsoo is fine. And let me know if you plan to go. I can get you tickets, I think. I… know one of the people performing." He looks to his side, tilting his head, then says, "Remember the lost kid we saw in COEX? Kim Jongin? Called me up the other day to tell me about it. He says he wanted to contact you, but–"

"You scribbled your number on my card when you crossed out my mobile," Minseok finishes. He scowls, but it's mostly for show. "Sneaky."

"I prefer 'smart' and 'sly'," Kyungsoo says in reply. He shifts in his seat, facing Jongdae now, but he keeps his fingers hooked on Minseok's own. "I'll give your tickets to Minseok-hyung."

"Awesome!" Jongdae holds two thumbs up, then turns to Minseok. "By the way, hyung, Kibum said he got a break with SM. They're asking him to work on SHINee's choreography for the new music video _then_ do stage direction for their new tour. So that means–"

That means Zitao will have to double up on Zumba classes, and that isn't healthy. That means Sehun might have to cut his rest short just so they can accommodate the volume of students Kibum has somehow amassed during his stay in the gym. And they can't risk both. It hasn't even been that long since Zitao started, and Sehun is only halfway through his therapy. Jongdae isn't as heartless as Zitao thinks he is – he won't let Sehun come back before his doctor has given him clearance to dance again.

The weekend part-timers will probably kill Jongdae if he asked them to do classes on weekdays. There's a reason they asked for the schedule, after all.

"That means we have to look for someone new. Or that I have to take some of his classes." Minseok worries his bottom lip, then looks up at Jongdae. "Or that _you_ have to take Kibum's classes. Didn't you dream of being a dancer once?"

Jongdae blinks a few times but he hasn't moved yet, hasn't uttered a word. He has this weird, funny smile on his lips that makes him look like he's struggling to keep his amusement inside, or that he hasn't quite decided how to feel about Minseok's statement just yet. But his eyes are crinkling at the corners and Minseok knows, he just knows, that this is Jongdae trying to formulate some coherent sentence in his head to communicate whatever brand of happiness he's feeling at the moment. The slight parting of the lips, too, is a giveaway – the last time Minseok saw this was when Jondgae said, before wiggling his eyebrows, _your savior has a really nice ass._ Emphasis on 'savior', not ass. And maybe a bit of emphasis on the wiggle.

"Are you serious, hyung? I mean…" Jongdae chuckles, unable to hold it in now, and bites the back of his hand to keep himself from laughing. "Are you really volunteering to take over Kibum's classes? Not that I'm complaining because that's great, but–"

"If the price is right," Minseok teases. Jongdae kicks him under the table, square on the calf. He tries to grin despite the sharp pain shooting up his thigh. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to try. I mean, we're out of options. I guess I could… give it a shot."

"You should," Kyungsoo says. He takes a sip of his coffee with his free hand. Some of the cream catches on his top lip and he licks it off without taking his gaze off of Minseok. "I'm sure you'll do a great job, hyung."

An excellent job, he tells himself. He knows his limbs can still move the way they used to when dancing was like oxygen to him. He knows how to pop and lock and to gyrate his hips if he needs to. He knows exactly how to control his muscles and how to move to dance beats. So he knows he'll do well. What scares him is the probability of reaching the peak too fast, and then plummeting to the ground just as quick, and even harder.

"I'm your man, I guess," he tells Jongdae. Under the table, he squeezes Kyungsoo's hand. "I'll sit in in Kibum's class tomorrow, if you want. Or we can work things out with Kibum first before telling him that I'm willing to sub for him."

Jongdae chuckles just a little, but his eyebrows are still furrowed and there's still a tentative smile on his lips. "I said," he begins, then clears his throat before he continues, "Are _serious?_ "

 _Don't fuck around with me, now, hyung,_ is what Jongdae probably means to say. Or maybe, _I want you to be a hundred percent sure about what you're getting yourself into so please, please, tell me–_ "Are you 100% sure that you're not feeling… forced to do this or something? Because we can always look for someone else."

 _There's Jongin,_ Minseok muses, but it's different. Jongin dances like Minseok when he was still young, but Jongin doesn't care for the gym or Zumba as a craft the way that Sehun, Kibum, and Zitao do. And while Minseok doesn't have the same brand of appreciation that the three possess when it comes to Zumba, he's seen this gym flourish. He's seen Jongdae build this business from the ground up and has seen Jongdae grow with it. It's a personal thing, like seeing your youngest brother graduate from primary school, or your sister graduate from training wheels to freedom to bike around the subdivision.

It's like seeing Minyoung _get better,_ get over things and transform from a girl who was once lost and recognized not a single face in the world, to a woman who knows who her brother is, remembers every single day they'd spent together as kids. With a few hiccups from time to time, yes, but progress is still progress.

"100% sure," Minseok answers now. He nods, assuring Jongdae, and adds, "But you'll have to give me a raise."

"I'll give you whatever you want, just take over Kibum's duties."

Minseok chuckles. "Then I'll say it again: I'm your man."

Jongdae's tiny, uncertain smile blooms into a grin, tugs so hard at the corners of his lips that Jongdae eventually gives into the allure of laughing. Kyungsoo laughs, too, tiny giggles soon blooming into full laughter that rings in Minseok's ears and makes this throat constrict. He could be signing himself up for a lifetime of regrets if he does slip again and fall on his ass, but right now he doesn't think about it too much. And Kyungsoo doesn't allow him to think, keeps pulling him back into this moment with his thundering pulse on Minseok's skin and his chuckles bright in Minseok's ears. So instead, Minseok harmonizes with the two, laughs with them, heart pounding against his chest with every hitch of the breath and their laughter growing louder. A victory dance to the tune of their happy voices too loud for a Sunday afternoon.

☄

Kibum's initial reaction to finding out about Minseok's offer is amusement; his second, shrill laughter.

Minseok doesn't take it against him. It _has_ been a while since he last wore any of his bright dance outfits for a workout, after all, sticking to muted colors for his yoga classes. Kibum takes a liking to his neon green headband and asks, "Where did you buy this, hyung?" But before Minseok can even answer, Kibum's back to being reduced to a lump of giggles on the floor. Kibum's statement can mean two things: first, _this is nice and I have to get one_ ; and second, _you look hilarious in neon green, hyung. Wear it again so I can laugh at you silly._

"It's not that bad," Minseok argues, then adjusts his hair band. He's always worn one back in middle school, during dance practice. It keeps sweat from getting in his eyes during tricky flips and difficult moves. "Hey, don't judge. You have neon orange arm bands and I'm not calling you out on those."

" _Because_ people know that I wear these colors all the time. See, I have a _vibrant_ personality." Kibum drawls 'vibrant'. Minseok tries not to cringe at the delivery, but fails hard at it and takes a jab to the arm in the process. "You, however, are cool, calm, and collected Minseok-hyung. Electric green isn't 'cool, calm, and collected'."

"People change," Minseok reasons. _People change for the better,_ a voice in his head says. "And you have to grow out of your leopard prints phase. Makes your thighs look big."

Kibum leers at him, but there's still a smile on his lips. Minseok decides to focus on the latter, and reaches up to pinch Kibum's cheeks. Kibum moves his arms, motions to jab at Minseok again, but Kibum's too nice to actually resort to violence to get his message across. So instead, he retorts, "Whatever. I love my thighs the way they are." He slaps Minseok in the ass, then, and tells him to get into position. "I'll run you through the routine before the class gets here."

Minseok locks his arms behind his back, stretching. "Hey, you can teach me along with the rest of the class. I don't mind. I'm just sitting in, after all."

"Oh come on, hyung, don't be silly. You're way above their level. I don't have to slow down for you." Kibum grins at him, teeth glaring at him, then flashes a peace sign. "Do you want a slow, sexy salsa, or a really funky unsexy dance?"

"I want to _learn,_ " he says through gritted teeth.

"Boner killer," Kibum mumbles. He heads to where the stereo is and presses a few buttons. Looking over his shoulder, he says, "Enjoy!"

This song is different from the one Kibum uses for most of his classes. He remembers hearing this during one of those advanced Zumba classes that cross over to Kibum's street dance class. It starts out slow, then picks up pace just after the second line in the first verse. Kibum sways his hips like he's born to do this all his life, and Minseok finds himself following suit, mimicking Kibum's moves to the best of his ability. Kibum does a simple cha-cha, and then a cross-cha-cha, and soon he's combining common dance moves with kickboxing techniques. Kibum lacks the roughness of street dance, though, moves in a manner so fluid that Minseok doesn't even notice the transitions. The first three minutes turn into five, and then another five, and soon he and Kibum are marching in place, waiting for the closing notes of the song so they can end with a flourish.

Minseok allows himself a moment of spontaneity and twirls on one foot, landing on the same spot he'd started on to complete a pirouette. He has his eyes closed when the music stops, right foot pointed and arms stretched to his side, like he's a bird that has just come down from a long flight, except his wings are bony. He feels so light, though, like all the stress of the past two decades has dissolved into sweat and eventually into thin air. He feels like going for another run, and another, and then another. This feels like coming home.

"You haven't lost your touch," Kibum says. Minseok opens his eyes, and a bead of sweat sneaks into his right eye. He winces. "Great form as always, hyung. _Beautiful_ form."

He offers a smile in response. "Thanks," he mumbles. "Feels good to be back."

Soon, the students flock the dance room and exchange fond greetings with Kibum. Kibum indulges them in a quick chat, and then introduces Minseok as a guest instructor for the day. "Drive them wild, hyung," Kibum whispers, giggling. Minseok socks him in his side, twists his elbow to make Kibum yelp just a little, but he begins to think of weird dance steps, anyway. What's a little mess in the routine, a bit of spice? Dancing is all about expression through movement, after all.

Kibum walks over to the stereo and goes through some tracks, then turns to look at Minseok once he's settled on one. He flashes a thumbs-up and Minseok takes this as his cue, turning on his heel to look at the students who have already taken their positions. There's a funny tingle in his toes, the tips of his fingers, bubbling in his throat. He begins to march in place as he calls out, "Ready, class?"

"Ready!"

Kibum rests a hand on his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. Minseok grins.

The song starts playing and he claps at the same time that Kibum does, matching the beat.

☄

"The class was a blast," Minseok says over dinner. He shifts in his seat just a little when he looks up and sees Kyungsoo's curious gaze. "Well, it was really good. Amazing, even."

Kyungsoo drums his fingers on the table for a while before reaching for a slice of tteok. They're staying in tonight instead of eating out, but they'd gotten takeout food on their way to Minseok's house. "Sore limbs," Minseok had reasoned out, and Kyungsoo hadn't even questioned him. Kyungsoo _did_ bring some ginseng tea and added another serving of meat to their order, though. When Kyungsoo can't find his words, he finds food to communicate what he wants to say – ginseng for _you need strength_ , meat for _but good job, hyung. I'm proud of you._ The second tteok he's just popped between his lips means, _go on. I'm listening,_ and the yellow radish he starts to take tiny bites of means, _say something before I say my piece._

Minseok pours both of them a shot of soju, then, and Kyungsoo shoots a sharp look at him. He takes a shot before Kyungsoo can even say a thing. "The students were happy and they said they want to see me again, during Kibum's next class."

Kyungsoo chokes on his food – the tteokbokki or the radish, Minseok can't tell – and widens his eyes. "They want to see you again?"

"Mhmm. It's an advanced class, though. The group we danced with earlier is a bit too enthusiastic about Zumba." Minseok chuckles. He takes some kimchi and pops it in his mouth, chewing as slowly as possible. "I guess I _can_ join that one, too. It's an 8 o' clock class and my last yoga class ends at 6:30 so that won't be a problem."

Kyungsoo nods in appreciation, then places a slice of yellow radish on Minseok's plate. "Tao says you were moving so well during practice. Said he was a bit… envious."

Minseok snorts. " _What._ He's a good dancer. He shouldn't feel that way."

"He said he wanted to learn from you, even," Kyungsoo continues. He takes his glass of soju, turns to his side as he takes the shot. There's a faint flush creeping up his neck now, tainting the underside of his cheeks. "Just that he's too shy to approach you or something of that sort. I don't understand him sometimes."

"More like, you spend so much time trying to figure people out and complicating things," Minseok answers. He takes the yellow radish between his teeth and chews before continuing, "I think he was trying to tell you to talk to me about it."

"I knew that."

"Of course," Minseok teases. Kyungsoo grumbles. Minseok locks their ankles under the table in response. "Tell him I can make time for him. Better yet, he can join Kibum and I in our class this Wednesday. I'm sure that class would appreciate seeing _the teacher with really nice legs_."

"They call him that?"

Minseok nods, cackling. "They also call him _cute Zumba teacher who'd also look good on a yoga mat,_ " Minseok rushes. "Don't ask me what they mean by that. I don't want to think about it."

Kyungsoo doesn't say a thing, simply laughs to himself until the cackles grow too loud to contain. He pulls Minseok closer by the ankle, then, and pins Minseok with a gaze. _It's not as if I intend to go elsewhere,_ Minseok wants to say when Kyungsoo starts dragging his big toe up Minseok's calf, his thigh, then just a few inches shy of his crotch. It's not as if he wants to miss this treat, either.

"You look happier," Kyungsoo comments, voice barely above a whisper. He reaches over the table, narrowly missing the bottle of soju, and tries to hold Minseok's hands, but he only manages to reach the tips of Minseok's fingers. Minseok laughs a little, then, a warm, bubbling sensation tickling his throat and teasing the corners of his lips. "And you sound happier. I'm sure… I'm sure Minyoung would appreciate it."

"It's high-time, really," Minseok says. He should've done the whole 'moving on' thing a long time ago, the same way that Minyoung stopped shunning treatment away and started appreciating the people in Lucky, started picking up a brush again to hone her artistic skills that she once thought she'd already lost. It's too late for all these regrets, though, so instead Minseok hands Kyungsoo the bottle of soju and urges him to pour them some. Kyungsoo pulls away with much reluctance and does as he is told, but nods in Minseok's direction as if urging him to go on.

"Maybe next year, when the doctors give clearance to pull Minyoung out of Lucky, she can spend her birthday here at home," Minseok continues. He drums his fingers on the table, suddenly missing Kyungsoo's warmth, then looks up when he feels something cold pressed against his skin. "Probably too late but at least she can start living a normal life again. If she wants to, at least. I wouldn't want to impose."

Kyungsoo chuckles, shaking his head, and holds up his shot glass. Minseok doesn't miss a beat and takes a shot first, then gestures for Kyungsoo to follow. He takes this as his opportunity to say something he'd otherwise regret blurting out. Without alcohol, he's not as courageous and his lips aren't as loose. Kyungsoo's hold on his hand is still pretty tight, though, despite all the soju he's already had.

"Then maybe I can introduce you to her as…" He laughs a little. The word is there, at the tip of his tongue, but somehow it feels like the letters are pulling Minseok's lips together, running amok in his mouth, keeping him from speaking. It shouldn't be hard to say this anymore – they _are_ technically dating now and Kyungsoo had admitted to liking him back – but it still feels so strange to be thinking of walking up to Kyungsoo with this confession at all. "As… you know. As someone really special."

Kyungsoo cocks an eyebrow at him. His cheeks are just the right shade of red now. He's probably tipsy, but not drunk enough to let this pass. "You make me sound like a dog, hyung," he groans. " _Someone special._ Kibum's especially annoying. Zitao's especially nice and warm-hearted. You're especially weird and interesting."

"As… someone who is mine," Minseok says, then. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from – laughing? Grinning? Cackling? He can't tell. All he knows right now is that there's a force so strong tugging at the corners of his mouth, pulling up his cheeks, pounding on his back to make him choke out tiny slivers of laughter. "Maybe I can tell her that her favorite art teacher is mine."

Kyungsoo sucks in his bottom lip, then tilts his head just so. There's a small smile, too, playing on his lips, an upward quirk so subtle that Minseok might miss it if he doesn't have Kyungsoo's features memorized, so he leans in, moves closer. Under the table, he accidentally jams his foot into Kyungsoo's own, but even that doesn't make Kyungsoo tear his gaze from Minseok. Kyungsoo remains focused, like he wants to get something from Minseok, wants to get something out of this.

"Yours, am I?" Kyungsoo hums. He drums his fingers on the table, then pours them both a shot, only glancing at the glasses from time to time.

Minseok takes his glass and downs the liquor in one gulp. "You have a problem with that?"

"Nope," comes Kyungsoo's quick reply. He shakes his head, but eventually he stops and stills the movement by pressing his palms on his head. "Just confirming. Might've heard it wrong. I don't… I don't trust my ears sometimes."

 _Then trust your heart,_ a voice at the back of Minseok's head says. He gestures for Kyungsoo to drink, then replies, "You're really cute."

Kyungsoo slams the shot glass down on the table, but it doesn't pack that much force for Minseok's body to jerk, or for him to be startled. Kyungsoo's lips are parted just a little, as if poised to speak, and he has an accusing finger pointed at Minseok, but he isn't speaking. There's no sound in the room, save for the little hiccuping noise Kyungsoo's makes that he swallows down as soon as he can.

"You will _not_ call me cute," Kyungsoo finally says, then drops his hand to the table.

Minseok catches Kyungsoo's hand, draws it close to his lips, then sucks on the tip of Kyungsoo's index finger. The stretch is a bit uncomfortable, but the look of horror and amusement on Kyungsoo's face combined is almost worth the struggle. The faint blush creeping to his cheeks, too, that might be the work of alcohol, but Minseok doesn't care anymore. All he cares about right now, at this very moment, is this – the cold press of Kyungsoo's finger on his lips that sends a funny tingle down his spine, the way Kyungsoo's worrying his bottom lip like he'll lose it any moment, lose control, and walk over to Minseok's side of the table to avenge himself with a kiss. The way their legs slide against each other and the peculiar fit of their ankles under the table. The way Kyungsoo almost _coos_ when Minseok leans in and presses a kiss to the back of his hand, and the light furrow of Kyungsoo's eyebrows when Kyungsoo realizes what has just happened and quickly retracts his hand.

The way Kyungsoo, slowly and tentatively, stands from his seat, and walks over to where Minseok is to straddle Minseok on his seat. The way Kyungsoo presses their foreheads together but doesn't quite meet Minseok's lips just yet, and the way Kyungsoo sets off explosions at the back of Minseok's eyelids when he kisses him, wet and warm.

"Cute," Minseok whispers when Kyungsoo pulls away, and laughs when Kyungsoo pinches him in the stomach.

Kyungsoo grumbles, "You're cuter," and leans back in to claim Minseok's lips in revenge.

☄

Minseok has appeared in Kibum's Zumba classes for more times than his fingers can count already. He'd started adding up the 'guest appearances' with his toes two days ago, but he decided to stop soon after. It's part of training, he reminds himself. If he wants to be a good Zumba instructor then he has to get acquainted with Kibum's dynamics with his class, as well. It isn't just about knowing the dance and finding the right song for the group; it's also about knowing how to bring the best out of people, making sure that they have fun while burning calories. Exercise and 'fun' are rarely in good terms with each other, after all.

He can't consider this a guest appearance anymore, though, not when he's becoming a 'series regular'. Soon, he'll be a mainstay and it might be difficult to pry himself from Zumba to focus on yoga again. It's both exciting and daunting, but for the most part it just feels like a dull ache in limbs. He cracks his neck, shakes his hands in his sides. Ten minutes 'til the next class starts. Ten minutes 'til Kibum starts dancing in this room for the last time in the next few months.

"So, this is it," Kibum says, voice dropping to a whisper before he loads the CD for his last Zumba class.

The dance room has been stripped of the flourish Kibum has brought with him, but Minseok hasn't taken down the motivational posters yet. He figures he'll need them sometime just as much as the students do, in the near future, when his knees begin to giveaway and he feels like he's slowly falling from grace again. He takes a few steps closer to Kibum, then, and rests a hand on Kibum's shoulder. On a normal day, Kibum would probably shrug him off, but today he sort of melts into the touch and snakes an arm around Minseok's waist. "I can't believe I got attached to this awful place and your awful boss," he says, voice still faint. Not even the sticky slide of their bodies deters Kibum from keeping Minseok close for comfort. "I can't believe I'm getting teary-eyed about this whole… shazam."

"It's okay, Kibum. I always thought you were capable of human emotions. Glad to know I'm not wrong," Minseok says in consolation. Kibum wails a little, hitting Minseok with his elbow in his side, but Minseok manages to block it with his free hand in time. "You're always welcome to come back, though. I'm sure the students would be glad to see you again, be taken under your wing and all. Zitao won't miss you, though. That kid turns everything into a competition."

Kibum cocks an eyebrow at him, grinning. "Bought him milk tea once. Never tried to compete with me after that."

"That's impossible."

"And he even made me coffee after I taught him one of my favorite dances." Kibum nods, slow and deliberate. "I win by a landslide, yeah? Aren't you proud of me?"

Minseok rolls his eyes but rests his head on Kibum's shoulder, anyway. "You make me want to throw up."

"Thanks, hyung," Kibum replies. He pulls away with an easy smile and does a curtsy. "I love you, too."

The conversation dissolves into thin air when the students start arriving, each of them with a small token for Kibum that ranges from strange wrist bands and hair bands to chocolate that can potentially put the health of Kibum's throat at risk. "What if I was leaving for a concert and I just didn't tell you all? What then? You want me to eat all of these and still sing tomorrow?" he says, voice cracking somewhere at the middle. He groans, fixes his hands on his waist, and turns on his heel, facing the mirror now. Minseok knows this well even before he catches sight of the small beads of tears at the corners of Kibum's eyes – Kibum's a tough marshmallow, as well, and this is his core on display now. The tough shell has come off completely.

He pokes Kibum in his side and offers a smile. "You look really ugly when you cry," he says.

Kibum raises a balled fist, motioning to jab on his arm, but he quickly drops it to his side and sticks out his tongue, instead. "Thanks. I'll make you cry someday, hyung, just you wait and see. Then I'll be able to tell you that you're the worst crier ever."

Minseok cackles but swallows the sound as soon as Kibum cocks an eyebrow at him. "Better start working on that endeavor!"

"I'm going to twist your nipples–" Kibum leans back. "No. I'll just kick you in your balls. Found out you have 'em, by the way. Kyungsoo told me. Congrats."

Minseok widens his eyes at Kibum. Half of him is certain that Kyungsoo isn't the type to kiss and tell, but half of him also knows that Kyungsoo is a bag of tricks. A splash of all the colors of the rainbow. Hip hop and jazz rolled into one, no matter how weird that sounds. "He would _never_ –"

"Kidding!" Kibum smiles at him, teeth baring, and flashes a peace sign at him. There's still a hint of the beads of tears at the corners of his eyes, though, and the irises are still a bit glassy. "The look on your face was priceless, though. You should've seen yourself, hyung. You should've seen your ugly _oh shit_ face."

Not willing to lose just yet, Minseok cocks his head in the direction of the class. "Your kids, they're waiting for you."

Kibum sticks up his ring finger which Minseok figures is the closest Kibum will get to expressing his twisted love for Minseok in public. He looks over his shoulder before playing the track. "I'll deal with you later."

All Kibum ends up doing is going for an extra thirty minutes because _we can't end so soon! It's your last day here; c'mon, sonsaengnim, show us some of your moves!_ And Kibum is a performer. He loves working behind the scenes and taking control of the camera but, at the same time, he loves the sound of applause and the feeling of stage lights on his skin. So he dances – a hip hop beat this time, something his body is more attuned to. Kibum moves like he hasn't been dancing for the past hour, moves like he isn't in his thirties yet. It feels like college again, where Minseok spent most of his days watching Joonmyun and Kibum perform on stage instead of acting alongside them. There was still an ounce of dancing involved in stage plays, after all, and he was too chickenshit back then to swallow his bitterness and get a move on.

He's not afraid anymore. It took him two decades to get over a life-changing experience, sure, but it's never too late to teach an old dog new tricks, right? Minseok has been dancing for a while already, after all, just not in front of a crowd this big. All he has to do is to focus on Kibum's movement beside him, on the music, on the way his body responds to it. So when Kibum gestures at him and says, "C'mon, hyung! Join me!" he makes no move to decline.

He takes a step forward and bobs his head to the steady beating in the stereo. He takes his position beside Kibum and starts dancing. He keeps his eyes on their reflection on the mirror and nothing else.

He doesn't look back.

☄

Zumba doesn't offer the calm that Minseok has always loved about yoga, but it works as a stress reliever just fine. His once-free mornings see packed schedules after he takes on Kibum's load. Kibum doesn't forget to drop by from time to time, but he does make sure to avoid running into any of his students. "Just thinking about them makes me want to come back and ditch the concert preps altogether," Kibum says when he visits one time, munching on one of the bananas in the staff pantry. "You'd think sepanx won't hit as hard when you don't stay in a place for too long but _nooo._ It hits like a fucking truck everytime I hear dance music."

Minseok only chuckles because he knows exactly how it feels, that consuming pain that grips your heart tight and makes your chest constrict. He's too aware of it, but he's also aware of how it feels to be liberated from the feeling. So he offers, "Why don't you do weekend classes?"

"Are you crazy?"

"He seems pretty serious," Jongdae says. From the other side of the table, Zitao holds two thumbs up and keeps sipping the milktea Kibum brought with him. "See? Even Tao thinks Minseok-hyung's idea is good. _Just one class._ " Jongdae's using that salesman voice of his that makes him two parts annoying and one part convincing. It makes Minseok snort. "Just one. I'm sure you'll need a _slightly_ different activity as detox!"

Kibum worries his bottom lip, tilts his head just so, considering. "When is Sehun coming back?" he asks.

"Soon-ish." Zitao does one last noisy, sip, then throws the cup into the trashcan. "He won't be able to take on too many classes yet, though."

"You only miss me for the milktea," Kibum argues.

"Yes," Zitao answers, earnest. Minseok kicks him under the table and Zitao quickly amends, "And no. I miss your words of wisdom and your funny dance moves and–"

Minseok rolls his eyes as the conversation dissolves into Zitao showering Kibum with praises and trying to convince him to take just one Zumba class on weekends for the sake of his sanity. He fishes for his phone from his pocket when it buzzes, and chuckles when he see a text from Kyungsoo. _Your good friend is making me go there because he misses me. Please tell him that my time is more precious than he is,_ it says.

Minseok paraphrases, saying, "Kyungsoo says he'll come over only if you promise to do one weekend class."

" _Bribery!_ "

Minseok winks and hits the 'call' button. "He said yes. Come over. Dinner's on me."

Minseok has never been a big fan of spontaneity, but he figures he needs a breath of fresh air from time to time. Staying in his tiny, cramped room has given him the worst muscle pain, but at least that's over now. Kyungsoo pulled him out of the room and made him realize that he isn't made for small places like this. Or maybe Kyungsoo whispered in his ear, _you can smash the walls, hyung. You're stronger than this, come on–_

Somehow, that's how the best people he's ever met carve a niche in his life – barge their way through the gates of his defenses, call out his name and invite him to play outside where it's bright and sunny. If he declines, they'll try again. If he's turned them down too many times already, they'll trespass private property to pull Minseok out of his room and make him see the beauty of the sandpit outside.

"Right now?" Kyungsoo chuckles. "Don't you have a class in ten minutes?"

"Shit," Minseok mumbles. He turns to the group and stands from his seat, then whispers a goodbye to Kyungsoo on the other end of the line.

The trip from the staff pantry to the dance room takes no more than two minutes, but he only has five minutes until the session stars and he hasn't even prepared yet. So he stretches his arms behind his back, promising, "This'll be the best session yet." He says it every single time, and his instinct hasn't failed him yet. So he keeps saying it in his head like a mantra, a prayer, like a wish for more good things to come.

He opens the doors to the room and greets everyone with a smile. The class turns to him with a look of surprise, like they were expecting him to not show up, but soon they're marching in place and warming up. Minseok turns on the stereo, then, and puts his favorite dance track in the player.

He looks over his shoulder and asks, "Ready, everyone?"

The students start clapping in the air. He presses the play button and rushes to his position, facing the mirror.

"Okay, class! Let's dance Zumba!"

☄

"And that's it," Jongdae says, snapping the padlock in place. He looks put out, but there's still a light in his eyes that tells Minseok Jongdae's willing to take the stairs to the lobby. With people flocking the gym the past few weeks just before the peak of Christmas hits, they've been clocking in longer hours. Minseok doesn't mind, but occasionally he regrets the dull ache in his muscles and the back pains. Kyungsoo's good at easing the tension is his shoulders, though, massaging Minseok's muscles with his thumbs. It's one of the few things he looks forward to when the clock hits nine in the evening. The other things include a warm hug and an even warmer cup of coffee. Long black for Minseok and espresso con panna for Kyungsoo at Organic.

"You'll drive, right?" Minseok teases now. He steps to his side to avoid the jab Jongdae throws at him, but falls prey to Jongdae's kick. "Hey, don't kick your designated driver!"

"Also, the guy who'll drive us to the nearest pizza takeout place because his boyfriend can't be assed to buy food," Jongdae adds. Minseok almost giggles at the word 'boyfriend', but has enough sense to bite the inside of his cheek lest Jongdae tease him about it. "Seriously, can't Kyungsoo just buy something from Ilsan? Or can't you ask Tao to buy something _edible?_ "

"I wouldn't trust Tao's taste buds," Minseok admits. He pushes the button to the basement and Jongdae sighs in relief. "I placed the orders earlier. We just have to pick them up."

Jongdae lets out a loud sigh and smiles at Minseok as he ends. "You are _the best._ "

Christmas in Seoul is not as magical as Seollal is, but beautiful just the same. Streets bustling with activity, the scent of good food everywhere – Minseok will be damned if he doesn't say that it isn't one of his favorite holidays. On most Christmas eves, he'd be downing a bottle of wine and munching on whatever delivery food can reach him at eleven in the evening, all alone in his flat. This year it's different. For one, Joonmyun and Baekhyun are the ones bringing the booze (wine and whiskey included), and they're having takeout instead of delivery. It's the same banana, in essence, but the mere thought of having people to celebrate it with... It makes Minseok's heart swell with a different kind of warmth.

He gets inside his car and hands his iPod to Jongdae. For trips as short as this, he doesn't mind someone else taking reign over the music.

They wrap up food duties in thirty minutes, and find Zitao waiting at the doorstep when they arrive. Joonmyun and Baekhyun arrive soon after, saying that the other three won't be able to make it because they have some _weirdass gig in Whereverland that's probably a euphemism for Starcraft during Christmas eve._ "Make yourselves comfortable," is the only thing Minseok says, even as Joonmyun offers to help him with the food in the kitchen. "I said, make yourselves comfortable _in the living room._ "

He catches Jongdae's careful gaze and the cock of his eyebrow out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't meet Jongdae's gaze, but he does take a step back from Joonmyun.

"I promise I won't blow anything up," Joonmyun says, smiling. Minseok knows this look well – Joonmyun's eyes are burning with so much light and his smile reaches the corners of his eyes and he's _glowing_. Joonmyun only uses this when he wants to get something, when he has to make the other person say 'yes', and Minseok's saying 'yes' to this, now.

There's nothing to lose and nothing to be gained. What could possibly happen that he'll regret in the future?

Minseok relents, shrugging as Joonmyun asks to be let inside the kitchen for the second time that night. "Perfect timing," Joonmyun says as he takes a step deeper into the kitchen when Kibum arrives with Sunyoung in tow. There's a bit of a ruckus in the living room, with Jongdae exclaiming, "No fair! Li Yin-noona said she has to stay at Lucky today to watch over the kids!" and Joonmyun only laughs in response.

"You'd think he'd already given up on noona, but no," Joonmyun comments at the same time that Kibum's voice soars above Jongdae and Zitao's noise. His mouth is twisted into a weird smile, though, like he means to say, _Isn't it stupid to wait for someone for that long a time?_ If Joonmyun ever thinks of phrasing it that way, he doesn't. Instead, he drums his fingers on the table, then starts to tear the bag of chips open to transfer them to a plastic container.

"She asked him out, actually," Minseok replies. He runs the bottles of wine through running water, then places them inside the freezer. The whiskey can stay outside; he has ice cubes, anyway. He scribbles a note on his stickies to take out the bottles from the freezer in ten minutes, then, and peels one sheet off to tack it to his phone in his pocket. "She's just really busy. But I think she's also kinda... scared to commit at this age? And to someone younger than her?"

Joonmyun laughs a little, then steals a potato chip. "That was never a problem with you."

Minseok grins. "Yeah. I like young boys," he admits. Joonmyun cocks an eyebrow at him. "The ones who don't like being called 'cute'."

"Kyungsoo's a really great catch, you know?" Joonmyun says out of the blue. Joonmyun isn't doing anything anymore, simply looking around the kitchen for something to busy his hands with. He hums for a while, trying fill the white noise, then starts munching on chips when the standstill becomes too much to bear. "And I'm glad that you two met. It's like a match made in heaven."

"Nah, just at an exhibit," Minseok teases. Joonmyun throws a chip at him and Minseok groans when it hits him in the eye. "But hey, thanks. For bringing me to that exhibit. Wouldn't have met him if you didn't drag me there."

Joonmyun's halfway through throwing another piece at him when he stops in midair, right arm drawn back and lips pursed. He has that thinking face on – lightly furrowed eyebrows, a small smile at the curl of the lip, eyes squinted, zeroing in on Minseok. It's as if he's trying to find the best way to reach Minseok, to get him square on the face and maybe in the heart, but that dance is long over. It never even began. Maybe at one point they were dancing the same song, but they never had an agreement that _Hey, you're dancing Superbass, too? Cool! Let's dance together!_ If there was ever an agreement, it was never spoken of like the rest of their tale. They're the smoke whose fire is invisible, an unfinished painting with only washes and nothing else.

"Pretty sure you would've met him, either way," Joonmyun answers. He pops the chip in his mouth, then leans back against the counter. "But for whatever it's worth, you're welcome."

Minseok nods in acknowledgment. Joonmyun closes the bag of chips once and for all and decides, "I should probably stop munching on these." He's one foot out of the kitchen now, but the rest of his body is facing Minseok. All Minseok has to do now is to give him a go signal, a green light.

"Yeah, probably," Minseok says. He hands the chips container to Joonmyun, then waves his hand about as he says, "Go, feed the kids. Sehun should be here any minute."

They're a bit more complete by the time the clock strikes half past eleven in the evening. Sehun arrives with a tub of mint chocolate ice cream, and Kyungsoo arrives with two different kinds of cake that have weird doodles on top. "Ah, abstract art," Baekhyun comments, and Kyungsoo cocks an eyebrow completely on reflex.

"There's nothing wrong with abstract art," Kyungsoo answers, tone so level and _strained._ Minseok knows that he has to grab Kyungsoo by the wrist now, make him sit on his lap or something just to keep him from hitting Baekhyun on the arm, because these two hardly know each other. They've technically just met even if Kyungsoo dragged Baekhyun's sorry ass from Insadong to Gangnam that one drunken afternoon. But seeing Kyungsoo lose control is always a sight to marvel at. On canvas, Kyungsoo maintains his calm but is a bit more rough with his strokes; in bed, Kyungsoo lets Minseok take control, but makes sure to tell Minseok how he wants it done.

"Yup. Nothing wrong with it. It was just a random comment–" Joonmyun clasps a hand over Baekhyun's mouth and pulls him to his side, making him sit beside him. He hands Baekhyun a pillow, then, but if Minseok knew better he'd say Joonmyun meant to hit Baekhyun in the face.

"Presents?" Joonmyun brings up, grinning from ear to ear, in an attempt to effectively shut Baekhyun up. He shakes the huge bag he'd brought with him earlier and makes this weird face that you only see mascots do in children's shows. Baekhyun seems to find it amusing, though, now distracted and laughing a little in his seat as Joonmyun keeps waving the bag of presents about. He pinches Joonmyun in the ass, but is quick to lean back in his seat when Joonmyun shoots him a stern look.

"We'll all be drunk as fuck come midnight, anyway," Joonmyun reasons out. "Come on! _Presents,_ everyone!"

They take turns handing out gifts, some more generic than the others. Minseok tries hard not to laugh when he receives a sweater from Sehun for the third Christmas in a row, but at least it's of a different color. Jongdae doesn't seem too thrilled, though, requesting for _something that isn't a sweater, geez, Sehun,_ and Sehun produces a self-help book on improving people management skills from the paper bag between his feet. Jongdae takes it with a big smile, hits Sehun on the head with it, but makes sure to _kiss the bubu away._ "This is an improvement from the sweater," Jongdae even adds. "Next year, though, I don't want to get the second volume of this book."

Sehun sneers. "Thanks for the great idea, hyung."

Jongdae groans. " _Fuck you._ "

Behind Jongdae's back, Minseok exchanges high-fives with Sehun. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes beside Minseok and whispers, "Pretty sure he heard you two."

Minseok shrugs and whispers, lips pressed close to Kyungsoo's ear, "We do it out of love."

Kyungsoo hands out his presents last, apologizing for the lack of creativity because, "Someone thought it would be great to announce a party 48 hours before the actual thing." Minseok only blows a kiss his way, though, and while Kyungsoo leans back to avoid it, it doesn't miss his neck. His ears burn a bright red and _oh_ , Minseok thinks, he can make Kyungsoo blush here if he wanted to. Alcohol will make it easier, so he files that thought for later, claps his hands when Joonmyun beams at the Frank Sinatra 45 that he receives from Kyungsoo.

A new set of head and wrist bands for Kibum, a juicer for Jongdae _for variety,_ because smoothies are still loaded with sugar. Some philosophical book whose title Minseok can't seem to make out with Kyungsoo thrusting the book in Zitao's chest the first chance he gets. Sehun gets these cute cartoon socks that he starts using as puppets, and Zitao's momentarily distracted from sifting through the book to play with Sehun. Baekhyun joins in on them, too, before Kyungsoo hands him a scarf because, "Joonmyun-hyung keeps worrying about you getting cold."

Minseok laughs a little, scrunches his nose when the busts of laughter tickles his throat too much. Kyungsoo turns to him with a light cock of the eyebrow, then, and begins to walk over to where he is.

Kyungsoo's steps are slow and deliberate as he closes the short distance between them. There's a small smile at the corners of his lips, teasing and testing, and then Kyungsoo stops. Their knees bump, and Minseok shivers a little at the jolt of electricity coursing through his veins. "Are you sure you want me to give you your present now, hyung?" Kyungsoo asks, then. He worries his bottom lip, then continues, "Because I'm not sure how your friends feel about exhibitionism."

Minseok narrows his eyes at Kyungsoo but reaches up to pinch Kyungsoo's nose. "Who cares? They're in my house. My house, my rules."

Kyungsoo snorts. The smile on his lips softens into something more relaxed. "I like how you think."

He takes a step back, though, and fishes for a thin box wrapped in brown paper. He runs his hand along the edge of the box, and Minseok furrows his eyebrows in response. "I wanted to add more but it... felt right just having _this_ in the gift," Kyungsoo begins. He then thrusts the present in Minseok's chest, finishing, "So here. I hope you like it."

Minseok isn't expecting the impact, and he almost chokes on the chips as he cushions the impact of the collision. He fastens his palms o, either side, then runs his fingers along the edges. It doesn't feel quite solid so it can't be a _real box_ , he supposes, but it's not a board, either. Curious, he begins to tear the wrapper, each ripping sound sending a shiver down his spine.

The first strip comes off, revealing a gradient of brown to pastel yellow. It's a nice shade of yellow, soothing on the eyes, and he feels the furrow of his eyebrows ease. Another strip, and Minseok can make out a pair of legs now, one of the feet pointed out while the other lies flat on the ground. There's a hint of one other pair, though, so he peels off another strip. He draws the gift closer to him, studying the composition. His lips fall open into a small 'o' when he sees another pair of feet, both subjects wearing–

"Ballet shoes," Minseok whispers. He looks up at Kyungsoo, back down on the painting, and then up again. "Is this the–"

"Keep tearing the wrap, hyung," Kyungsoo urges. His lips quiver, torn between his teeth-baring smile and his tight-lipped one, but his eyes are wild and ablaze and reeking of excitement. "Go on."

Minseok peels off two trips at the same time. He can see the faces of the subjects now and they look… strangely alike. Not completely the same, but there are small similarities – same almond-shaped eyes, the same curl of the mouth. The same shape of the face and the quirk of the lips. And they're both small. The guy isn't much taller than the girl, but the girl is looking up at him, face tilted just so. He's carrying the girl by the waist and they're both smiling. Minseok knows that smile. He's seen it reflected in the water, on shiny black surfaces, on the mirror. He sees it every single day.

He lets out an exhale and whispers, "You… painted me and Minyoung?"

A light flush creeps up Kyungsoo's neck and paints his cheeks a soft shade of pink. Kyungsoo traps his bottom lip between his teeth and says, "Merry Christmas?"

Minseok looks at the painting again, holding it at an arm's length this time. He takes in the details – the light and heavy strokes, the wicked curves, the line of movement. The use of highlights and shadows to bright out the twinkle in Minyoung's eyes and the subtle dimples on her cheeks. The invisible win that makes some of Minseok's hair in this painting stick to his face. Minyoung looks younger in this painting, so filled with like, and Minseok looks… exactly like the man he is now. Kyungsoo's got every small detail down – the slicked back hair, the sharp angle of the jaw, the peculiar cock of the eyebrow. The small smile at the corners of Minseok's lips in this painting, and the way a hint of Minyoung's figure is reflected in his dark eyes.

Minseok moves his thumb closer, wanting to run his finger along the paint, but decides against it. He drops his hand to his side and tries to look away but it's hard when he's seeing his new life in front of his eyes, captured and framed in a painting.

"I... probably should've made you taller," Kyungsoo whispers. "I'm sorry, I should've–"

Minseok shakes his head, then stands from where he is. He rests the painting on the couch before turning to face Kyungsoo, still caught in a daze. "It's perfect," he says, voice barely above a whisper, so he pulls Kyungsoo close, into his arms until they're chest to chest, heart to heart. "It's _perfect,_ he repeats, clearer this time. He wants to say something else, like _you shouldn't have_ or _you're the best_ or _I can't believe it,_ but his throat feels so tight and dry and his chest feels so full that he might burst if he says anything more. So he kisses Kyungsoo – on the tip of his nose, his cheeks, his chin, sucks on his top lip and licks his way inside Kyungsoo mouth when Kyungsoo tilts his head back just a little, granting access. He keeps kissing Kyungsoo until he finds his words again, right on the tip of his tongue, leaving marks and painting lines on the caverns of Kyungsoo's mouth. And he twirls Kyungsoo around just in case he doesn't get it because he can never be too sure, and he wants Kyungsoo to know how much this means to him, and he wants Kyungsoo to _feel_ it. So he resorts to movement because this is the language he knows by heart.

"Thank you," Minseok finally says once he's come down from it. He keeps his face buried in the crook of Kyungsoo's neck, though, and tilts his head only to press his lips on the back of Kyungsoo's ear. There's another word threatening to spill from his lips, but Kyungsoo doesn't wait long enough for him to say it, sways their bodies pressed so closer together until they develop an easy rhythm. And they dance, because everything he has to tell Kyungsoo is in their song.

Kyungsoo laughs, bold and bright, in Minseok's ears. They don't stop even when Jongdae whistles and Sehun says, "Okay, that's enough cheese for you two!"

Minseok pulls Kyungsoo closer, humming a song under his breath and relishing the way their bodies align.

They keep dancing.

**「 お ま け 」**

Kyungsoo isn't so averse to the idea of parties. He's okay with attending them, at least. Organizing them, however, is an entirely different matter altogether. Maybe working behind the scenes isn't so bad since he doesn't have to deal with people that much (and if he does, he has the leisure of threatening to hit them with a sharp object any time he wishes). Or creating invitations. He's a good artist and not a shabby designer. He can work on those. Coordinating and getting in touch with attendees? Something he can't stand. Still, he finds himself doing exactly that, beaming at people and telling them to _please sign the guestbook!_ for two reasons: one, Kibum; and two, Minseok.

"You're the best friend _and_ the boyfriend," Zitao reminds him. "You don't have a choice."

Kyungsoo frowns at him. "Thanks, friend. You're the best."

It's the opening of Kibum's exhibit for his new business, a fitness clothing line that's more of an excuse to be fashionable during a workout. In all honesty, Kyungsoo doesn't get the charm, but Kibum somehow conned him into creating some designs for him so might as well be here, right? He may not have faith in Kibum's fashion sense, but he does have enough faith in Kibum's charm and sheer number of connections to important people that he knows the fashion line will be a hit. Possibly the next trend, even. He won't openly admit that in front of Kibum, though, for fear of Kibum thinking that Kyungsoo adores him. He doesn't. He _tolerates_ him.

"Soo," comes a familiar voice. Kyungsoo's breath hitches for a moment and shit, this is really silly. He looks over his shoulder, wearing the best grin he can muster, but he can feel the sting of his smile at the corners of his mouth. Minseok chuckles, biting his lower lip a little, and moves closer until the tips of their shoes touch. There's still a good distance between them, enough that Minseok can turn to his side at the first sign of a guest or an acquaintance, but enough to pin Kyungsoo in place, numb the tips of his fingers, make his knees go weak.

Minseok reaches out, tracing the length of Kyungsoo's face with his fingers. Kyungsoo takes a sharp intake of breath, air passing noisily through his nose. Minseok snorts, louder this time, the type that Kyungsoo knows means, _You are so stumped, kid. I've got you. You're in too deep,_ but he doesn't say anything. Instead, Minseok inches closer until the tips of their noses touch.

"I thought we're past the eskimo kiss stage," Kyungsoo mumbles. He keeps his voice low, careful not to let Zitao hear. He catches Zitao's light laughter, though, before Zitao inches away from them.

"And I thought you were past the whole 'reacting like a teenager in love' stage," Minseok replies.

Kyungsoo jabs Minseok lightly in the stomach, but eventually grabs a fistful of Minseok's shirt. Minseok grumbles at first, putting up a fight. Kyungsoo knows he'll regret this later when Minseok walks up on stage with a polo crumpled in front and maybe at the back if he pushes Minseok against the wall right now, but he doesn't care. Minseok will take off the stupid polo later, anyway. Dance in Kibum's hideous fashionable workout attire that's so tight he'd be able to outline the dip of Minseok's back when Minseok dances.

Kyungsoo swallows and he feels his throat loosen. "I'll deal with you later, hyung," he whispers, then gives Minseok's upper lip a light nip. "In your skin-tight workout outfit."

Minseok chuckles. "Is that a new kink of yours?"

Kyungsoo shrugs. He isn't too fond of a lot of things, rarely goes out to try something new, but Minseok has made finding new favorites easier. He can tolerate popcorn now and not order nachos when they catch a movie. He can drink lime juice instead of orange when the restaurant they're eating at only has that to offer. He's been trying to go back to finger painting, but only when he gets to use Minseok's back as a canvas.

He can dance better now. He still needs a lot of practice in that department, but he's not in a rush. It's not as if he's running away from this whole 'arrangement' anytime soon, or ever. Minseok doesn't plan to book the first flight to wherever Joonmyun is, either.

"Could be," he replies. He shuts the guestbook and takes it with him. He allows Minseok to pull him inside the venue and doesn't shake off their linked arms.

The lights are closed all around them when the slip past the doors. Kyungsoo can hear the shuffle of feet, though, and Minseok's even breathing just beside him. "What's happening?" he asks, but soon he's answered by the spotlights, and then the stage lighting up in all the colors of the rainbow. It's a nice light painting against a wooden canvas and Kyungsoo would _love_ to marvel at it, but Minseok's linking their hands now, pulling him closer, up the stage. There's a peculiar glint in Minseok's eyes, in the curve of the lip, and Kyungsoo can see himself dancing in Minseok's eyes.

Shit, he thinks, he is so going to kill Minseok after this.

Shit, he thinks as he allows Minseok to drag him up the stage, he doesn't mind surrendering to Minseok like this, their bodies, washed by light.

"Dance with me?" is the only thing Minseok says, and Kyungsoo doesn't even bother putting up a fight. He does mouth, _I'll fuck you so hard, you'll regret this later,_ though, but Minseok only replies with a cheeky smile, eyes turning into half-moon crescents, hearty laughter. Soon, familiar Zumba music comes in, and Kyungsoo thinks, _of course,_ because he should've seen it coming. Should've predicted that Minseok will con him into dancing with him in front of a huge crowd. Should've practiced the dance so that he won't make a fool of himself.

"Keep your eyes on me," Minseok whispers this time. He pulls Kyungsoo close, then says, "Hey. I said, _focus._ "

Kyungsoo takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment because that's what Minseok does when he wants to get lost in a song. The beats start filling his ears and he bobs his head to them, feeling every thump of the base at the backs of his knees and his elbows. "Ready?" he hears Minseok say, and he wants to say _no, I don't want to do this, I want to get off the stage now,_ but he doesn't. instead, he opens his eyes and nods, meeting Minseok's gaze.

He sees himself reflected in Minseok's eyes, shining brighter than before. There's no turning back now.

He laughs and shakes his head as Minseok winks at him and holds up their intertwined hands, clapping to the beat of the song.

He never stood a chance.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The coffee shops and malls in this fic are real. Jongdae's gym, set in Gangnam, is actually the SM office.  
> 2\. 'Lucky' isn't a real place, but the hospital near it is. St. Mary's Hospital is part of The Catholic University of Korea in Yeouido.  
> 3\. Ilsan Lake Park is real and _really_ big. The lake in the park is actually man-made. You can view a short tour of the park [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4AecbvyxcYg).  
>  4\. Kyungsoo's paintings in the exhibit he had with Kibum are based on real paintings by the great JJ Zamoranos. The [Becoming](https://www.behance.net/gallery/18713111/Becoming) collection is the one that Kyungsoo "exhibited" in COEX. [This](https://m1.behance.net/rendition/modules/126600515/disp/2591162b98c1b3f32df82fe60b4bcc5d.jpg) is the Nightwalker, and [this](https://m1.behance.net/rendition/modules/126600511/disp/fbd89e0a214193bf6fcb6528407710be.jpg) is the painting Kyungsoo said was inspired by Kibum.
> 
> * First of all, thank you so much to my fellow kyungsooperior participants. What started out as a tiny project turned into... this! And what a great experience it has been. Congratulations to all of us for pulling through! :D Thank you, too, to tlist for putting up with my incessant wailing throughout the writing process. Special thanks to Lonio for being a pillar of strength in times of despair, to Selene and Chelsea for the endless support, and to Frances for holding my hand, brainstorming with me and making sense of my messy brain, and for being amazing all around. Wouldn't have been able to finish this fic without you. ♥ I had a lot of fun (and cried a lot) while writing this fic and it's been such a great experience. I hope you guys enjoy it! :)
> 
> ** Here's a [mixtape](http://8tracks.com/dongsaengdeul/standing-still-isn-t-easy) for the fic, if you're interested!


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